


Shroud of Darkness

by ProphetessMinty



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Black Sun (Star Wars), Clone banter, Coruscant Shock Trooper (CST), Death Watch, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Visions, Friendship, Mando'a, Minor Character Death, Montrals FTW!, Nite Owls, Republic Commando references, Resistence on Mandalore, Romance, Slow Burn, Spice, The Pkyes, They meet eventually...pinkie promise!, They’ve met and it’s pretty cute!, This is my ship and I’m taking you down with me, Uj cake, Vibroblades, hand holding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22610326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProphetessMinty/pseuds/ProphetessMinty
Summary: Since the death of Tup and Fives, and the unexpected departure of Commander Tano, Rex finds himself under siege by what he knows. The war is growing as dark as its secrets and things are not as they seem. As the Force has willed it, Rex and Ahsoka are soon engulfed by a movement that culminates at a war-torn Mandalore. [Rexsoka]
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan/Bo-Katan (if you don shipping goggles), Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 52
Kudos: 134





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Disney.
> 
> A/N: This story was originally posted on my Fanfiction account under the same username (ProphetessMinty). Shroud of Darkness has been a work-in-progress for a while now. I'm striving to make a good and clean fic filled with adventure, friendship, romance, and more. Hope you guys have as much fun reading it as I am writing it. Enjoy!  
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Prologue**

_Fear. Anger. Hate. Suffering._

_Fear keeps its enemies in the dark without a light—without hope._

_Anger is a shackle that prevents its victims from standing formidably, as it is meant to distract them from what lies ahead._

_Hate, the anti-fruit of "love", is poisonous to the bone and marrow; from where it trickles like sap from a tree, rot and decay are sure to follow._

_Suffering is the complete anguish one endures when the light of life snuffs out like a candle._

Evil welcomes darkness as an old friend and adorns its principles with a gaudy crown of faux regality. There is much pride placed upon the glittering enticement of this chaotic wonder. Destruction breeds under the throne of corruption, staged on high in an unlikely place as it is cloaked in great malfeasance. Capitalizing on the careless listening ears of assemblies far and wide, evil speaks with a voice of silken falsehoods. Under the table of strategic gambles, strings are being pulled taught with casual finesse.

With every twitch of the finger, the master of deception pulls together his plans which weave a long and tangled web of calamity. Every word that proceeded out of his mouth of wickedness, fueled an order so vile it turned helping hands into fists. Brother against brother; sister against sister; blaster against blaster; and so forth. The raging sea of animosity reigned as never before; a violence so foul it curdled the blood of innocents. Terror patrolled the streets in the form of white plastoid and smoking orders.

It started with a directive, four simple but putrid words: _"Execute Order Sixty-Six"._

As one jerks a string to tighten a knot, the deceptive tactician pulled the remaining slack to finish his work. From the inner core to the outer rim, worlds far and wide, a secret war's end came to fruition. Malice was tasted; tangy iron abundant in the mouths of the dead. Clones turned upon their Jedi allies and, on that day, and the days to follow, master and apprentice fell beside each other in utter surprise. The objective was about gaining power and control to stabilize a Republic turned Empire.

Tyranny had become the perfect usurper.

Wars and rumors of wars cracked the very foundation of faith the people had in the Republic; their home and haven. Dreamers died from incredible sadness and truth-seekers were brought to their knees before justice was served. Truth became like water and slipped through the grasp of the Jedi; the clarity of light was exchanged for the shroud of darkness.

Time had run out. It was time for the Jedi to end.

_"_ _Execute Order Sixty-six."_


	2. Chapter 1: Make It Count

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Disney.
> 
> A/N: I very much appreciate constructive reviews so please feel free to leave me your thoughts.  
> Thank you and happy reading. :]  
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 1**

_It was Fives' final moments after a blaster shot to the chest left a freshly smoking wound. The injury was a gaping chasm of charred flesh and the air was thick with the smell of singed hair. Rex's nose revolted at the awful twang as the smell forced its way into his lungs without remorse. He suppressed the sensation to gag as he knew his soldier needed him. No…his "friend" needed him._

" _Rex…," Fives gasped breathily as he writhed on the floor in anguish._

" _Fives," Rex lamented._

" _This. It's—bigger than any of us," Fives huffed with great burden. Rex couldn't feel much from behind his gloves but he knew what death felt like. Cold—it was cold. Fives let out a desperate and fearful shiver. "Anything I could have imagined," Fives choked out as he strained to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head. Rex ignored the company of white and red, trooper boots that stood behind him._

_Everyone was watching and he didn't want to miss this moment. "Oh, I never meant to– to…," Fives spoke before grabbing his captain by the pauldron. "I only wanted to do my duty," Fives whispered into Rex's ear with grief._

_The dying clone began to hyperventilate, his body shuddering as it began to reject the breath of life. Rex watched helplessly as the ARC trooper crumpled into a gasping mess. It was moments like this that he pictured his hands in a pool of water. As much as he tried to grab at it, the liquid would run through his iron grasp. Fives' eyes shut as he let out a long and drawn out breath._

" _Fives—stay with me Fives," Rex spoke, his voice faltering. "Fives," he whimpered shaking his beloved friend. The clone looked up to Rex one last time with sleep heavy on his hazel eyes.  
_

_"The mission...the nightmares…they're finally…over." It was that moment that Rex felt the body lighten in his hands. Fives' head rolled unnaturally off to the side and his lips were pale white with a tinge of blue-grey._

" _Fives," Rex whimpered again shaking his friend, "Fives!"_

" _No, Fives—come on Fives. No! No—stay with me. Fives! Fives! Don't go…," Rex spoke in torment. No matter how much he shook and shook, the ARC trooper didn't stir. His comrade never responded. Rex felt the stab of loss beginning to sting at his eyes. "Oh, no," Rex whispered, bowing his head._

_At last, Rex laid the body down as he mouthed Fives' name. This was it, he was gone._

* * *

Rex wasn't sure when it had happened, but he couldn't seem to look anywhere anymore without hearing death itself laughing at him. The heaviness of loss was everywhere. Maybe it was the demise of ARC Trooper Fives. Was it the loss of laughter in General Skywalker's eyes? Or was it the 'goodbye' he never got to say to Commander Tano?

Things were changing. He…was changing.

No matter how much he busied himself with work, paranoia would creep along and whisper into his ear. Almost like a dark ritual, he would feel the side of his head where a possible ticking time bomb resided. His fingers frequently traced over his freshly buzzed hair. A light scratching noise danced in his ears as the fabric of his gloves scraped against the bleached follicles.

Somewhere off in the distance, someone spoke over the ship's intercom, announcing their current trajectory for the drop-off coordinates. The " _Clandestine_ "—General Quinlan Vos's small flagship—was headed for Coruscant. Shortly before the mission to supply a small outpost with food and water, General Skywalker was pulled away for another matter. None the less, Rex and his men proceeded under the leadership of Vos for only a day. The war was taking a toll on the small colonies and Rex gladly took up the chance of being a part of the relief effort. As the _Clandestine_ was coming to the end of her journey and it was almost time for the Captain to take his leave.

"T-minus ten minutes," the voice spoke before the intercom _clicked_ off. Rex stood up from the table he was sitting alone at inside the galley. Taking up the white mug, long emptied of hot caf, he walked over to the kitchen's counter. On the windowsill sat a clear tub in which he gently discarded his dish. The clone captain quickly exited the mess hall still ruminating his current predicament.

" _Was Fives right?_ " he thought to himself.

" _Are we Clones really just puppets?_ " asked another stray thought.

It had been a month since Tup and Fives perished under peculiar circumstances. Something about all of this just did not add up. Every time he thought about this very matter it made his stomach flop, putting him on the verge of vomiting. Rex licked the corner of his mouth; his tongue dry with worry.

" _Good soldiers follow orders_ ," echoed the ill phrase.

He was tired of being tired; he felt heavy and weighed down by the restless nights. Weariness tugged at his eyes leaving them dry and irritated. A dull ache began to pound behind them, but Rex remained in stubborn denial of his body's desire for sleep. Time was ticking and every moment he spent in idleness was lost progress. " _What should I_ do?" he asked himself. Even he could not respond to his own question.

As it stood, there were two options to choose from: he would do nothing and continue business as usual; or, he would investigate the organic chip's existence. If it did exist, Rex would get it removed. He'd do whatever it took to get it done. The very idea of knowing about this device could save countless Jedi like General Tiplar from being attacked by Clones on the spot. Images of Jedi being mass murdered in the streets or on their flagships was disturbing. And in the Captain's mind, turning on a Jedi was unthinkable. The mere idea of it was a violation of his core beliefs.

No matter how he looked at it, there was only one way to prove it.

He had to remove the chip, but how? Would it work? He didn't know. Rex mulled over his thoughts in silent horror. " _Dual minded thinking comes at a steep price_ ," he told himself. As his heavy boots thumped swiftly against the floor, Rex tried desperately to focus on the sound of his steps to drown out his doubts. With every stride he took, his helmet would jiggle and clank against his plastoid, armored thigh.

_Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

Rex steadied his thoughts on his way to the hangar, a steely expression locked in place. Just like in the Battle of Umbara, Rex was teetering on another impossible choice. The doors opened and he went in, finding some of his men near one of the transport ships due back to the capital of Coruscant. His brothers welcomed him, and he gave them a slight nod of acknowledgement.

" _I've got to be strong for them_ ," he thought. Grabbing the plastoid helmet off its clip, Captain Rex retreated into the familiar solitude of his bucket. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. Outside the helmet, he was a Captain, and that persona never wavered before his men. Inside the helmet, he could fall apart and no one would know it.

Here, he was safe. And it was here he was free to let his thoughts roam.

Walking toward one of the LAAT/i's, Rex noticed General Vos talking with his commander off to the side. The Jedi Master seemed enthused with his present conversation as his shoulder length dreadlocks shook back and forth in tandem with his laughter. The single yellow stripe across his cheeks and nose almost disappearing in the creases of his smiling eyes.

The Clone Commander next to General Vos wore a dark brown pauldron and a long kama that ended around his shins. His hair was brown, slicked back with grease as a lock of hair dangled before his brow. Rex noted that the sides of his head were freshly shaved, leaving a smooth fade to accent the slicked back style.

Commander Kath was known for his predatory tactics in the field. He was good at pincer-maneuvers and downright wicked at tracking. The name—Kath—Rex presumed came from the Dantooine Kath Hounds as he was known for his extraordinary tracking skills. Rex nodded toward his fellow clone in acknowledgement as Kath's yellow eyes settled on him.

"Captain Rex," General Vos yelled jovially.

"Yes, General Vos," he answered while changing course.

"Commander Kath told me last night how you singlehandedly took control of the situation at the collapsed ore mine. He said you worked until sundown to remove the rubble just to retrieve your men."

"Yes and no sir. It wasn't singlehanded. The operation was very much a team effort to retrieve my men from the tunnel."

"Nonetheless, Captain," Quinlan stated before placing a hand on Rex's shoulder, "no one could have done what you did. Excellent leadership leads to unified support."

Rex nodded, "Thank you, Sir."

"However–," Quinlan trailed off as he waved Commander Kath away. "I sense conflict within you. Are you concerned about something?" 

Rex felt a prickly feeling creep up the back of his neck. His concern was the last thing he wanted to tell the Jedi Master. "Uhh," Rex started as he was at a loss for words. "No sir," he finally managed.

"Very well, but don't let duty keep you from resolving your concerns. We Jedi rely on you. So whatever it is, it can't wait." Quinlan's jovial demeanor had fled away as he fixed Rex with a sagely stare. It was the kind of look Rex knew only the Jedi would have when they looked off into the farthest corners of reality. General Skywalker and General Kenobi had the same look from time to time. Even Ahsoka.

"Yes, Sir," Rex replied evenly.

Quinlan patted the Captain's shoulder with a nod before walking off. Rex sighed with relief as he hadn't realized he was holding his breath. General Vos was right, he conceded. The problem before him couldn't wait. "Captain Rex," called Kath's familiar gruff voice, "this LAAT/i isn't going to wait all day." Rex shook his head as he jogged up the gangplank. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but it started with getting some R&R. From there, he would only have a small window of opportunity.

" _Make it count_ ," he told himself.


	3. Chapter 2: From Pain to Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've always wondered what Ahsoka would have done right after leaving the Jedi Order. I tried to imagine or empathize with how she would have felt. It had to have been a tough growing process, but in the end...she was obviously better for it. Maturity requires one to grow outside the self and learn through the circumstances. Life isn't perfect and often it does NOT go the way we plan/design. Sometimes, it's not such a bad thing.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 2**

" _You have our most humble apologies, Little Ahsoka," Master Plo Koon spoke sincerely as he clasped his hands before him. "The Council was wrong to accuse you," he finished with distress in his voice. Ahsoka felt the anguish and sincerity in her Master—her friend. He looked the way he sounded which was remorseful and she was grateful to know it, though it came at a high price.  
_

_"You have shown such great strength and resilience in your struggle to prove your innocence," Master Saesee Tiin added, looking toward her._ _Ahsoka noted the awkwardness in his voice. The Iktotchi, Jedi Master was just as baffled as those around him in their misjudgment. Though he was looking in her general direction, he didn't quite look her in the eye. He felt shame.  
_

_"This is the true sign of a Jedi Knight," came the soft voice of Master Ki-Adi-Mundi. Just like Master Tiin, the Cerean also looked toward her but not at her. His eyes bounced from place to place, but he too wouldn't make eye contact._

" _This was actually your great trial," spoke Master Windu solemnly, "now we see that. We understand that the Force works in mysterious ways. And because of this trial, you have become a greater Jedi than you would have otherwise."  
_

_Ahsoka tried her best to listen to Master Windu, but felt her frustration rise at his words. Folding her arms, she did her best to listen to what he or any of them had to say, but it was hard._

" _Back to the order, you may come," Yoda spoke with warm gentleness._

_Ahsoka finally looked down to the floor. She knew in her heart that she didn't want to come back, or at least—not presently. The hurt was powerfully overwhelming, and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to forgive them. They were so quick to judge her and so quick to treat her as a criminal, but they were too slow to hear her. She felt heavy and worn out. The burdens on her heart had finally caught up with her and the weight was too much for her to bear._

" _They're asking you back Ahsoka," Anakin said with a flicker of hope in his voice. Ahsoka looked up into the face of her Master and found his pleading stare. "Come back", they seemed to whisper. She had never seen a more desperate look, though it probably almost matched the look she was giving them all. Anakin reached for his pocket and a moment later withdrew something from his side. "I'm…asking you back," he said holding out before him the beads of her Padawan braid._

_Ahsoka felt her heart plummet and her stomach flop in grief. The pang of her emotions sent a dull ache into her montrals causing them to twitch ever so slightly. The moment between Master and Padawan seemed to stretch on until the very fabric of their short time seemed to be pulled taught. As much as she may have wanted to come back, the time had passed and there was no going back. She felt herself gulp, the dryness of her mouth and throat making it difficult._

_At first, she reached out with a hand to pick up what had been most precious to her all these years. Her wonderful, fantastic, awesome braid. One of the few pieces of jewelry she owned that she treasured as much as her lightsabers. It was more than a material thing, it gave her hope. Hope, that she was living with a purpose and a future. It was a sign of the things to come for her, but not anymore._

_Realizing this, she knew it would be a nagging reminder to her that she had somehow failed. Reaching out, she softly folded Anakin's open hand around the braid as she shook her head "no". "I'm sorry Master, but I'm not coming back," she spoke tenderly, doing her best to fight back the tears. The ember of hope in her Master's eyes flickered out and was replaced with a veil of despair. In that moment, Ahsoka knew he would grieve her for he could not understand her decision._

_"I'm sorry Master," she thought to herself as she turned and walked away._

_The Jedi path was no longer her future, it was elsewhere._

* * *

Descending the steps of the Jedi Temple was probably the second hardest thing she had done today. The first being that she unintentionally hurt her Master—Anakin. The weight of it notched a sickening pit in her stomach and her montrals began to ache. All the emotions she had kept bottled up throughout this whole process had finally come to their boiling point.

She didn't try consoling herself with Jedi mantras and she didn't bother to keep herself in balance. With every step she descended, the grief came crashing down like a rolling tide. The depths of agony began to pick at her and torment her thoughts. " _What about the guys?_ " she asked herself internally. "Will they think I'm deserting them?" she thought. "Am I a coward?" she asked herself. Gripping the hem of her thigh-length, maroon dress, she squeezed her anxiety into the fabric.

At some point in her journey, the scarlet twilight had turned into grey overcast. The sky was thick with oppressive clouds as the air became dense with humidity. Moments later, the clouds let loose their bountiful rain. At first it was gentle, but it quickly became a downpour. Ahsoka looked up at the dark clouds, squinting into the moisture. The atmosphere of Coruscant seemed to weep for her grief. The feelings she had tried so hard to reign in broke past the dam of calm sending her into a fit of hot, agonizing tears.

" _Why_?" she thought to herself between ragged breaths.

"Why did it have to be like this? Why does it hurt so bad?" Ahsoka sobbed into her terracotta-colored hands.

Now on the last flight of steps, Ahsoka started to tremble with shock as she realized she had lost hope in the future. Her mind felt numb; her body felt frail; and the tips of her montrals seemed to slightly sag. It was as if someone had ripped the joy out of her through her gut. " _Where do I go_?" she thought, crying more from the realization of the present. " _What do I do?_ " Again, the emotions raged, and she found herself knocked off her feet. The stairs were cold, wet and unforgiving. Her clothes were drenched and heavy with rain; sapping her warmth as a bone-chill set in.

" _I've got to stay strong_ ," she desperately tried to reassure herself.

Swiping at her eyes, Ahsoka tried her best to calm down from snuffling and wheezing. Though she felt undignified, she couldn't help it. She sat there for a few minutes, not daring to stand. The atmosphere had become darker even though the lights of Coruscant bounced off the thick and oppressive, wispy-gloom. Looking up from her watery bench, Ahsoka looked over the buildings and streets that stood before her.

She watched as the speeders flew effortlessly over the skyways and how pedestrians crossed the streets unbothered by her cares. How she wished she could be like them: carefree and a part of something bigger. Sighing, Ahsoka stood up and stared at the last steps of her journey. She was hesitant at first, knowing that these permacrete stairs were leading her away from her dreams.

As headstrong as she was, she was battling the taunts of these steps which seemed to cackle at her. Finally, she made her choice: these steps would not get the better of her. Whatever it was she would do now, Ahsoka wanted to do good—plain and simple. She wanted in on whatever would help people and even if she wasn't a Jedi anymore, she wasn't without skills. As if the sky over Coruscant agreed with her, the downpour let up into a gentle mist.

Ahsoka plunged forward and felt her breath hitch in her throat as she stepped off onto the sidewalk. Ahsoka found herself caught between a laugh and a cry. Her raw emotions seemed to melt away as it dawned on her that this was a new beginning. She was no longer a Jedi in name but in her heart, she would always be. With the whole world in her hands, she had endless potential.

Planting herself firmly in bravery, Ahsoka challenged herself to keep going. With a will made of harder stuff than transparisteel, she propelled herself onward. Step by step, she found a gentle flame spark within her. No matter where this new chapter in her life would take her, she knew she couldn't go backwards. There was only forward because if she stayed where she was, she would be quickly overthrown. Her feet led her forward in a walk that quickly turned into a jog and then a run. The temple grew smaller and smaller as she ran the distance and it took all her strength to not look back. If she did, then it would only be like salt to an open wound—painful.

As she expended the last of her angst, she found herself in the nightlife of one of Coruscant's outdoor markets. Each stall's vendor was rambunctiously yelling over each other to let their possible customers know about their various sales and goods. Their prey were easy targets, willing to buy whatever might reward them a fleeting moment's delight. The streets were packed, and the crowd was thick, causing Ahsoka to dodge and weave to avoid collision.

Strange people of all species surrounded her and not one of them knew her name or who she was. She was just another face in the crowd and another oddity to the mix of Coruscant's culture. Never had she ever felt so alone even though she was surrounded by people, it was almost surreal. Ahsoka pressed on through the market until she was stopped by a Twi'lek vendor; her montrals twitched with mild irritation.

The blue Twi'lek smiled greedily as he shoved a box of jewelry toward her. "Good evening, beautiful one! A woman as lovely as you are, deserves something as beautiful as these to wear," he said waving an open-palm above the glinting spectacles. Ahsoka's eyebrows furrowed in response to the unwanted solicitation. 

"No thank you," she spoke as she moved to side-step him.

The vendor reacted by stepping back and holding an arm out. "But wait, I haven't shown you the rest of what I have to offer," the Twi'lek said quickly redirecting her to his stall. On the tabletop of his stand, he had many gleaming jewelry—bracelets, rings, necklaces, earrings, and headpieces. 

Ahsoka humored him and took a cursory glance. "Yes, lots of jewelry. I'm not…interested—," she trailed off as when she spotted a small, ornate box amid the gaudy necklaces.

The box was no smaller than the palm of her hand and it was made from an ash-colored wood. On it were many small swirls painted in purple and gold. Ahsoka went to reach for it but the vendor grabbed at the item quickly before saying, "It's not for sale." Ahsoka snapped out of her trance-like wonder toward the object and looked to the Twi'lek perplexed. Before he spoke again, his long, blue lekku seemed to squirm like a traveling snake.

"My most humble apologies, beautiful one. This—," he said while shoving the box into his pocket, "this is not for sale. I'm not quite sure how it made it to the table, but you need not concern yourself with that." The vendor looked around with skeptical eyes for a moment before quickly picking up a necklace. "How about this one?" he asked laying the beads in his hand. The beaded necklace was a deep scarlet color held together by a simple clasp on the end. "Devaronian garnet," he said moving his hands slightly so the garnet would sparkle.

"Do you like it?" he inquired.

Losing interest in the Twi'lek's poor sale tactic, Ahsoka put her hands up. "No thank you," she said giving him a critical stare. The vendor seemed to frown at her response—he hadn't expected her to say "no". Picking up a pair of earrings, he tried to entice her, but found that Ahsoka had begun walking away. He called after her, but she ignored his plea and continued onward. For just a moment, she found his demeanor about the box off-putting.

Putting her experience with the Twi'lek behind her, Ahsoka wandered the market until she felt a sudden tug in the force. Though her body was walking one way, her spirit seemed to be jumping in another. Reacting to her years of honed skills, she followed this feeling which led her to a small park. In the center of the commons rested a marble fountain with statues depicting Angels—famous from Iego. Each pose was different as some were dancing; others were pointing; and a few were looking up. She walked to the edge of the fountain and took a seat on the ledge. Looking around, she saw no one in sight but remained faithful to the call by staying put.

Time had passed—two hours in total—until something caught the corner of her eye. Searching the distance with nothing in sight, Ahsoka felt a disturbance in the force. Getting up, she jogged in the direction of her uncertainty. The moment Ahsoka came to the curb, she heard a great _crunch_ under her foot. Stepping back, she scrutinized the item she thoughtlessly trod on and knelt in curiosity. Hunching over her new find, Ahsoka scooped up the ornate box that had partially collapsed.

The box was the size of her palm and the color of ash wood. With both hands, Ahsoka started to turn the box to inspect it. She was intrigued by the vibrant purple and gold swirls painted on its surface. It wasn't until she traced a swirl with her finger that she remembered where she had seen the design before. "The vendor," she whispered to herself. In the moment of her epiphany, Ahsoka tilted the container causing the lid to dangle by the hinge. Peering inside, Ahsoka found it empty save for the faintest hint of red powder coating the bottom.

Swiping a gentle finger across the bottom of the box, Ahsoka's finger came back an adobe-red. The substance was velvety-soft but felt thick when rubbed between pointer finger and thumb. A quick sniff revealed a cloying scent that made her almost reel into euphoria. It was unforgettable as she felt like she was being pulled into a peaceful abyss. The powder was calling to her mind, begging to be tasted, and her tongue began to water in response.

With a gasp, she abruptly chucked the box far away from her. Ahsoka quickly rubbed her hand against her grey tights, disgusted by what she knew it to be. "Spice," she growled. Off in the distance, she heard a _clunk_ before the box skidded to a halt. Looking in the general direction of her throw, the Togruta noticed a faint glow in the doorway of a warehouse. Sprinting toward the warehouse, Ahsoka felt the Force guiding her forward with a burst of energy. Her limbs and feet tingled with excitement as her muscles worked effortlessly.

With the assistance of her Togruta sensory abilities through her montrals, Ahsoka felt no movement in the distance other than the gentle Coruscanti evening breeze. Now at the entrance of the warehouse, the open door basked in the darkness as the yellow glow from earlier was gone. The Togruta felt another tug in her spirit and felt the Force pool to her feet. Jumping up the height of the building, Ahsoka gracefully landed on the rooftop with the flat of her boots.

Again, the evening breeze whispered, carrying with it a teasing scent. Ahsoka searched for some time until the tips of her horns shook. Looking behind herself, she saw a hole in the roof on the south corner. Jogging up to the opening, she heard the wind softly whistle over it as if to say: "Here it is." Ahsoka knelt and laid herself flat to peer into the hole. As she peeked in, she felt her shoulder length montrals dip forward has gravity tugged on them.

On the warehouse floor, Ahsoka saw metal crates, haphazardly stacked. The wind blew again, and she heard a hollow howl of wind whistling through the cracks in the windows. Sniffing at the air, the curious Togruta concluded that the cloying smell of spice clung to the atmosphere inside. With another whiff, her montrals started to feel tingly and her skin began to flush with a cold-hot intensity at the base of her skull.

Taking a leap of faith, she jumped down and landed near the crates. Cautiously, she remained crouched, not willing to risk her cover. She reached out and softly touched one of the crates and brought back a dark, dusty hand. About fifteen feet before of her, Ahsoka felt the groaning of old metal vibrate the tips of her montrals. Light from a glowrod began to pour through the door and the shuffling of shoes ricocheted off the walls. She heard a slight " _shh"_ from someone as a container buckled under an echoing _crack_.

"Oops," said a deep voice unsympathetically.

"No one can know we are here," she heard a lighter voice whisper.

"Is this the full shipment?" asked a third with a raspy voice.

"A couple tons of spice just as requested. Where are the credits?" inquired the second.

"Here," she heard the first say before a loud blast rounded off. The sudden _bang_ left an intense ringing inside Ahsoka's horns as she waited and listened nervously. The light from the glowrod winked out for a moment as it must have fallen under something. She listened as the sound of soft footsteps receded out of the room until all was silent once more. Though her montrals still felt tingly, she didn't need them to know she was alone with a corpse. Peeking over the crates, Ahsoka found a figure lying on the floor with a dim light peeking out from underneath.

Quietly she hopped over the containers and sprinted to the body. Kneeling, she held her hands over the body. Pulling gently with the Force, Ahsoka watched as the body rolled over face-up. Again, she called on the Force as she imagined the glowrod in her mind's eye. Calling to it, the object floated up and over the body. From what little she could see, Ahsoka saw enough to identify the person as a Twi'lek. More importantly she noted, it was the same vendor she met in the market only hours ago. With a frown, the young Togruta felt her heart sink for a moment.

The feeling was fleeting as old metal groaned again somewhere deep in the warehouse. Acting spontaneously, Ahsoka sprinted to where she came from and leapt up to the roof. She was outside, and the wind had ceased its howling—as if Coruscant held its breath. She felt the blood in her system pumping with vigor as she closed her eyes.

For a moment she stood still, waiting for the Force to guide her. Then her spirit jumped to the east side of the building. Turning in that direction, she ran to the edge of the rooftop. Looking out over the permacrete lot, Ahsoka watched as two giant figures ran to another warehouse before disappearing around the corner. It wasn't long before she saw a grungy, old cab zip out and around from the back.

Out of habit, Ahsoka reached for her saber and shoto, but frowned when she grabbed at nothing. Looking down to her brown belt, she gave a great sigh as she realized she wouldn't have them again. "Recon only," she told herself before jumping from the rooftop. Ahsoka felt a burst of energy zing through her muscles and she ran back toward the market. Though she watched as the cab grew tantalizingly smaller, she was determined to catch up.

By the time she got back to the market, the Togruta had jumped up to the rooftops. Running along the edge, she would peer over them from time to time. About ten buildings later, Ahsoka found the old, dingy cab stashed behind an alley dumpster. She leapt down beside the aircar and found it empty. Frustration coursed through her and she kicked the bumper of the vehicle with the tip of her boot. Instant regret panged through her toes and immediately she held her foot as she hopped around.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" she yelled to herself, "Why did I do that? Ugh!"

As Ahsoka calmed down from the precipice of her vexation she exited the alley and entered back into the marketplace. The young Togruta did her best to blend in with the crowd, calling on the Force to find a thread of direction to grasp on to. She remained like this for about five blocks until she stopped about twenty feet away from the subway system. Ahsoka felt her insides leap forward in recognition, but she remained still. Going through the entrance portals, the two large characters she had seen in the taxi barged their way past a Rodian female. The bystander fell to the ground as she was stunned by their brute force.

Ahsoka waited for ten counts and then walked over to the Rodian who she effortlessly hefted to her feet. "Did you see what they looked like?" Ahsoka asked hurriedly. 

"I–uh–tall and green. With long black hair," the frightened Rodian paled.

"Thank you!" Ahsoka yelled as she jumped over the portals and practically flew down the stairs. Turning a sharp left, Ahsoka ran toward an open car but was too late.

The doors of the car closed as the tram propelled itself forward in a long, endless blur. The Togruta growled in frustration as it seemed she couldn't catch a break. Out of pure chance Ahsoka looked up and saw two large men standing next to each other in a passing car. It was for a moment, but a moment was all she needed to know who she was looking for.

"Falleen," she whispered to herself.

"Next connection to level 1313 will leave in: 4 hours," a droid announced over the intercom. Ahsoka watched as the tail end of the tram flew past her, the taillights a vibrant streak of ghostly orange. She looked to the trams sign and verified its destination as it read: "Level 1313". Then Ahsoka couldn't help but smile as she realized that not all hope was lost.

"I'll see you Sleemos real soon," she said to herself.


	4. Chapter 3: The Facts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am a huge TCW fan and to be honest, I can't get enough of the Clones. They are such an eclectic bunch, ranging from silly to serious. Writing their personalities is not only a treat, but a mental workout. 
> 
> Enjoy! :]
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 3**

As soon as Rex reached the capital, he sent in a request for personal leave. Not too long ago, some Coruscanti Senator, named Skennah, had raised a heated debate for Clone rights; specifically petitioning for a certain regiment to receive R&R. This peculiar request was unheard of but hit the heart chords of those with similar sentiments. At first, their argument gave leeway to a sort of trial period but soon after, the metropolis of Coruscant began to boom with excitement. Various news networks swelled with a barrage of questions and public opinions, both good and bad.

The seemingly harmless idea became a great tactic for boosting both morale and public relations. At last, Republic citizens were given a face to the men on the front lines. It was all thanks to various senators—like Amidala and Organa—that the Grand Army even approved of their property taking leave. Even though the clones were newly afforded such a once, non-existent luxury; Rex and his brothers alike found this to be very strange. One day they were just property and the next…somewhat recognizable, semi-sentient beings with needs. No matter how little ground was gained to identify Clones as flesh-and-blood with valid, civil liberties; the army of brothers would take what they could get. This was one small step for Clone-kind, but what would they do with it?

Not long after filling out his application, Rex was granted leave for one week. He hastily made his way back to the barracks and exchanged his armor for an officer's uniform. Rex fiddled with his belt for a moment before gathering his R&R credits together. The small chips clanked against each other before settling deep into his pants pocket. Before turning to the door, he looked longingly towards his empty hip holsters lying neatly on his bed. Earlier, he had dropped off his favored DC-17's at the weapons depo as it was standard protocol to leave them in the armory when not on duty. With one final look, he left the room.

Moments later, Rex reached the building's exit that lead him to the roof top of the skyscraper. The tall metal tower overlooked a deep chasm filled with life. Business lights began to glow brighter and brighter as the sun hid itself below the skyline. Golden, airy clouds drifted lazily in the sky, accenting the vibrant shades of scarlet and purple left behind from the retreating light. The evening air was oppressed by dry heat and a slight breeze that eagerly kissed the cheeks and necks of those about. Rex breathed deeply, soaking in the view. Out in the distance floated a holographic ad for 79's—the "Clone Bar". The image depicted four brightly polished BD-3000 luxury droids holding platters full of frothing drinks. With a sigh of content, Rex shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking to the south side of the roof top.

"Rex!"

The Captain looked over his shoulder and came to a stop as Commander Cody jogged toward him. "Commander Cody, sir," he acknowledged, snapping into a formal salute. 

"At ease Captain," Cody responded with his own salute. Rex relaxed as the two began walking in step with each other. "Word has it that you're on leave. Where are you headed?"

Rex chuckled softly as he shook his head. "I am on my way to 79's for a drink, Sir. Care to join me?"

Cody nodded as he gestured toward his plain-clothes uniform, "I've got a moment." The two walked on in silence until they reached an air traffic fly-over zone at the south end of the barrack's roof top.

The two of them hailed an air taxi and within moments found themselves sitting in the back of the dingy cab. The Rodian cabby and his passengers were separated by noise canceling transparisteel, leaving the occupants free to speak in private. Cody continued looking out the window until his thoughts finally got the better of him. Turning his attention to Rex, he found the man staring intently at the partition. "It's been a couple of months since Commander Tano left the Jedi Order and a month since Tup and Fives died...," Cody commented leaving all unspoken questions up for grabs.

It had been a while since they last spoke in person. Most of their day-to-day conversations were brief one-word-transmissions made from their communications gear. Usually asking the same question once a day: "Alive"?

Rex bristled at the statement before side-glancing his counterpart. "They were good men, Sir," he replied softly.

"It's a shame that we lost such a fine Commander," Cody added.

"Now we have to deal with more paperwork and angry Civvies. I wish they would shut it. It's not like they have a war to fight anyhow," Rex spat in disgust.

"At this rate," Cody said shaking his head, "they might tell the Jedi and us Clones to ship out."

Rex scoffed, "Not without risking a Republic collapse."

"If only they knew what went on out there," Cody said thoughtfully.

"Would it really change anything?" Rex asked rhetorically.

Cody shrugged in response, "I don't know but one would hope so. We can't risk doubting our allies based on assumptions. If we start to doubt them, then what? What good does that do?" Rex nodded dismissively and went back to staring out the window pretending to be fascinated with the blurry ads that littered the air ways.

"Are there any more updates on Tup's or Fives' death?" Cody asked.

"Nothing. It's been quiet—too quiet," Rex responded.

Cody awkwardly scratched at his temple, "How are you dealing with all of this?"

"I don't know—"

"Yes, yes you do Rex," Cody said cutting him off.

"Alright, alright," Rex snapped, "I'm frustrated. Something isn't adding up."

"Okay, shoot."

Rex thought to himself for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. He was fully aware that anything he spoke in these next moments could make him sound like a lunatic. At worst, it could wind up with him getting court-martialed on the grounds of conspiracy. He sighed, what else could be said other than the facts?

"Right before Fives died, he told General Skywalker and I that these things—," Rex pointed to his head, "these chips—were in all us Clones. What if what he said was true? That means we would be walking, talking time bombs."

"No way," Cody barked, suddenly flustered. As if to illustrate his objection the Commander slammed his fist into the seat with a loud _thunk_. "It's a farce. A wild fantasy filled with misadventure. Worse, it means that we Clones—" Cody grunted, cutting himself off. "I don't know what happened to Tup or Fives, but one thing is for sure," Cody continued a little softer, "they were out of their minds."

"Sir, with all due respect, I—," Rex began before Cody interrupted him.

"I understand that losing your men, and Commander Tano, is hard to cope with. But don't lose focus Rex. You and I are loyal soldiers. We are not some evil mastermind's playthings. We have control over ourselves—freewill—and that's exactly why we are able to have conversations like this. Just because two of your men went off the deep end and came up with a disturbing story doesn't mean we need to follow suit."

"Sir!" Rex objected.

"Get it together, Rex. If you continue down this line of thinking…I'm not sure I can follow you. Not this time," Cody sighed with grief.

"Sir, yes, sir," Rex responded though he didn't agree. The two men went back to starring off at nothingness, letting the awkward lull in the conversation leak out the cracks of the taxi's windows. Minutes passed, and the cab finally arrived at 79's. Cody paid the Rodian driver and watched as the cabby took off, greedily in search of another customer.

79's front terrace was full of customers, entering and exiting, the establishment. The music was loud, and it practically poured out the doors every time they opened. This was exactly the place to become enlivened by the thumping of joyousness and frivolity. Cody stretched out his back and playfully clapped Rex on the back, leaving all frustrations by the wayside.

"Drinks are on—"

Before Cody could finish his sentence, a roar of quips and retorts rang out from the inner circle of an indignant mob. Near the entrance of the cantina, a large cluster of customers had formed, jeering and whistling in unison. Their attention was completely stolen by whatever they were focused on. Cody and Rex raced from the curb to the crowd in anticipation to break up a brawl.

_Whack! Whack! Whack!_

A fresh round of punches audible enough to feel were doled out to its receivers. Rex and Cody forcefully shoved aside the gawking spectators and found two of Cody's men standing in the middle with a raging Dug male. 

"What's going on here?!" Cody yelled causing Trapper and Boil to flinch into a lazy salute. 

Both men sported bulbous, black eyes and embarrassed pride. The Dug walked past Commander Cody, but not before shoving Trapper and Boil on his way to the curb. As the indignant creature reached an air taxi, he turned around yelling at them in his native tongue. It didn't take a translator droid to understand what it had shrieked with rage. The cab made a mad dash into heavy traffic, leaving the men with an angry commanding officer. The crowd disappointedly disbanded as they left the four Clones to their own devices.

"We were on our way out of the Cantina when Boil was shoved by that Dug—uh—Sir!"

Boil kept a blank face until Cody looked to him. "What was so important you needed to start a fight?" Before Boil could answer, Cody took both men by the shoulder leading them away from the cantina. Cody looked back toward his companion, "Sorry Rex, duty calls. I need to take these di’kuts back to the barracks before they get into any more trouble."

Rex waved goodbye and turned back to the doors of 79's.


	5. Chapter 4: Odd News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Anyone like detective/crime related shows or novels? Definitely tapped into that kind of vibe for this chapter. :]
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 4**

Outside of the battlefield, Rex often felt nervous to be alone. He usually chalked it up to the fact that it was too quiet. Maybe it was the sense of lulling peace he wasn't used to. The military life was all about constant motion and structure. Outside of that lifestyle, he wasn't sure "who" or "what" he was. Rex didn't have much time to ponder this as his work demanded that he follow orders and give orders. Maybe that was why the Jedi were so perplexing to him.

He often thought of General Kenobi and Commander Tano when it came to deeper thinking. After a battle they grew quiet, as if they were having some type of internal conference. It was a habit they grew into the more they were emotionally moved by conflicting events. Rex used to yearn to match their quietness, but he learned over time that he wasn't yet willing to listen in on what his heart had to say.

One trait he was sure of about himself was this: he thought better in the noisiness. He was always like that as far back as he could remember. When Rex was a cadet, he was most often praised for being levelheaded when others weren't. Despite the chaos of drills and physical combat, Rex excelled at making quick, concise decisions. When others lost focus or succumbed to the pressure, he could be counted on to buckle down.

The moment Rex walked through the threshold of 79's, he was instantly submerged in the deafening roar of the cantina's music. The establishment was not originally intended to serve Clones, but it seemed to be the only place that openly accepted them. So long as they paid their tabs and refrained from demolishing the joint, they were welcome. There were a couple rules between all the Clones when it came to 79's. They are: polite operations or discuss other options (POODOO); just enact decent interactions (JEDI); and your opposition draws anger (YODA). Even though these rules seemed funny, they were there to prevent the Clones from spoiling their open invitation to this small getaway.

From the entrance, his brown eyes swept across the open room. The area was split between two tiers: the bar floor and the dancefloor. Most of 79's patrons loved to party on the dancefloor but tonight was different. The house was jam-packed on both levels making it hard for Rex to maneuver without bumping into anyone. The atmosphere was dimly lit and noticeably accentuated by an oppressive wall of swirling smoke.

The music was louder than normal as it was boisterous enough to rattle his teeth and the beverage stock lined up against the back wall. Off in the far-right corner of the bar, Rex noticed two men and a Rodian huddled closely together. They would occasionally look up to check a monitor displaying a live pod-race. There was no doubt that these men were placing bets as Rex saw one of the men exchange something to the Rodian off to his left.

Rex shook his head as he continued his venture to the bar in search of a stool with his name on it. Looking around himself, Rex saw a few of his men from the 501st enjoying their night off. It made him happy when he saw them having fun, especially when there was not an ounce of worry on their identical faces. The gift of normalcy for a Clone was few and far in between, but he would take what he could get.

" _Changing focus is a hard thing but it is worth the struggle_ ," he thought to himself.

As Rex resurfaced from his internal musings, he found an open barstool and quickly strode to it. Raising his hand, he put two fingers up as he flagged down a bartender. While he waited, Rex went to grab a credit from his pocket when he was pushed into the bar's countertop. He grunted in mild frustration as he whipped around to see who had bumped into him. Behind him was a white, Twi'lek female brushing herself off as she shot a dirty look to the three gamblers behind her. Rex noted that these were the same men he saw earlier.

She made a quick motion—one which Rex couldn't see—before stalking off into the crowd. Rex wanted to say something to the bettors but thought better of it as all three of them seemed spooked. The Rodian particularly seemed the most disturbed as his skin suddenly turned an ash-green color. He watched as the gamblers turned away from the bar, walking onto the dance floor. The men melted into the crowd, not to be seen again.

Rex felt a tap on the shoulder a moment later and was greeted by the bartender with a frothy drink. Rex nodded his thanks, handing the credit over as he took his seat. Holding the mug up before him, he allowed himself a small smile. He could practically taste the syrupy, goodness of the amber liquid already. 79's finest draft—in Rex's opinion—was their Almakian Hard Cider. They had it in stock seasonally which meant he only got it while they had it. Taking a quick drink, he practically moaned his approval as the sweet crispness satisfied his craving.

Every time he got a whiff or taste of the cider, it reminded him of a small but special moment. He was on a small supply run, when he and Ahsoka were gifted with an Almakian pie to share between two of them. One of the local natives—a farmer—was thankful toward them after they defended his crops from simple thieves. Rex remembered seeing the way his Commander lit up in excitement as her eyes practically glowed with happiness. In her joy, she hugged the farmer and then him for what seemed like a long while.

" _She probably thought nothing of it_ ," he told himself.

The two of them had brought the treat back to camp as they had intended to eat it with a cup of caf. It was their mistake as nearby teammates and General Skywalker sniffed out the goods. Rex found it humorous that Commander Tano took to defending her slice in a playful duel against the General when he found out there was pie involved. Rex chuckled as he thought about how their antics ended with apple and goop all over their heads.

" _Those two were always like that,_ " he thought to himself while sighing.

Exiting his reverie, Rex took another sip of cider before swiveling around to survey the room. He sat like that for about an hour, enjoying his time people-watching while he avoided thinking on deeper things. It was about 2100 hours when Jesse ambled up to the bar and took a seat next to him. It was quiet, unlike earlier, as it was the usual lull that occurred between shift changes.

"Captain Rex," he greeted with a lazy salute.

Rex returned the gesture before swiveling back around toward the bar. The bartender came over with mugs in either hand. They nodded their thanks as they pushed their credits forward before claiming their drinks. Rex and Jesse clinked their glasses together as they took their first sips.

"Heard you took some time off," Jesse spoke casually, "Who knew you took vacation?"

Rex rolled his eyes at Jesse, "Word travels fast around here. Doesn't it?"

Jesse shrugged playfully. "Only when it comes to someone like you, Captain."

"Someone like me, huh? What does that mean?" Rex asked with a furrowed brow.

"No hard feelings Captain. If anything, it's a compliment. We notice how hard you work because it makes all of us want to work that much harder. That's the nature of the job," Jesse said as he eyeballed his drink.

Rex took a moment to think over it before patting Jesse on the shoulder. "I can always count on you for an honest answer," Rex commented.

"Of course," Jesse nodded. "So, what are you going to do with your time off, Sir?"

"Not sure, yet," Rex replied truthfully.

"You know," Jesse said changing subjects, "I heard a bit of odd news this morning."

"What's your odd news?" Rex inquired.

Jesse pulled out a credit chip from his pocket while he gathered his thoughts. Setting the mug in his left hand down, he started to fidget with the currency. Taking it with both hands, he spun it a couple times before finally deciding what he wanted to say. "About a couple months ago the Coruscant Security Force came across a dead body in an abandoned warehouse. At that time, CSF claimed it was a petty homicide, but no other details were given."

"Okay—sounds like normal ops to me. What's weird about that?" Rex asked.

Jesse went back to fidgeting with the credit, watching it carefully as it spun. "The weird part," he began, "is the fact that it was pretty close to the Jedi Temple. I figure they would have taken notice of this kind of incident being as it was close to them."

Rex bristled for a moment, "So—"

Jesse cut him off, "So—the odd news starts with the 'who' and 'what'."

Rex nodded, trying his best to keep up. "As of today, CSF released to the press that there's been a rash of drug busts around Coruscant. They didn't list any names. However, they said some of the kids and adults who were busted for possession had small, wood boxes on their person. Inside each box was a red, powdery substance."

"Sure, but that's Coruscant. Drugs aren't new," Rex retorted.

"Wait," Jesse said as he put both hands up. "They didn't say it outright, but I found a report published about a month ago that was related to the warehouse incident from months earlier. It was a small blurb, but it caught my attention nonetheless. CSF mentioned that the victim—who conveniently remained anonymous—was tested for drugs," Jesse stated firmly.

"CSF is always going to run a toxicology report on a dead body," Rex nodded, following the conversation.

"Correct. However, during the exam they apparently recovered a small, wood box with red powder inside," Jesse said smiling as Rex's expression changed.

"Alright. Now I'm interested," Rex spoke with intrigue.

"So, the report came back positive for Spice. These kids and adults were also positive for Spice. The only thing linking these events together are…?" Jesse inquired.

"The boxes," Rex finished.

"They never did identify the individual by name—or species even. Anyone who deals with Spice is usually related in some way to the: Pykes, Hutts, or Black Sun. Did I miss anyone?" Jesse asked while looking at the fingers he was counting on.

Rex mulled it over with a gulp of cider. "What brought this to your attention?" he asked Jesse.

The clone shrugged as he tapped the credit on the counter before stowing it back in his pocket. "I don't know, I just notice things. And things—things have been odd."

Rex felt his eyebrow shoot skyward. "Odd?" he asked.

Jesse nodded, "Yeah, ‘odd’. Ever since Tup and Fives passed, I—I don't know where I'm going with that…" Rex watched as Jesse stared off into space, hiding amongst some unspoken anxiety.

"You know, I still think about their last days with us. A lot in fact," Rex admitted.

Jesse looked toward his Captain with astonishment on his furrowed brows. "Really?"

Rex nodded in affirmation as he nudged Jesse's elbow with his. "Nothing wrong with thinking about them. Just, don't let it—don't let it consume you." Jesse seemed to imitate the same nod Rex had given him.

There was a moment of silence between them and neither of them bothered to look each other in the eye. Jesse eventually worked up the courage to speak his mind by the time he finished his drink. "You know, it's times like these that I realize life is really, really—and I mean 'really'—too short for us Clones."

"I can agree with that," Rex responded bluntly.

"Growing up, I always thought things—as a kid—on Kamino were hard. Now, everything from back then seems easy," Jesse mused aloud.

"Isn't that the truth?" Rex asked rhetorically.

"I wish that were true about now though. There are too many unknown variables like how the Republic sees us or how to interact with women," Jesse mentioned unashamedly. The conversation came to a halt as Rex choked on his drink.

"What?" he sputtered dumbfounded.

"You know, females. The kind that walk on two legs and have an hourglass figure?" Jesse explained as he continued to coax out his Captain's embarrassment.

"Yes, I know what 'kind' you speak of," Rex retorted with frustrated embarrassment.

"Remember the farmer we met on Saleucami? What's his name?" Jesse asked inquisitively.

"Cut Lawquane?"

"Yeah—that guy! I wonder how things have worked out with him and his family," Jesse sighed dreamily.

"Why do you say that?" Rex asked.

"Simple: I want what he's got. Maybe after the war…who knows?"

Rex thought about it for a moment. He began to picture a ring on his finger and little children wrapping their arms around his legs for a moment. Though it didn't last long as his thoughts traveled back to weapons and how to use them.

"I'm not so sure I'm cut out for that," Rex admitted while scratching at his scalp.

"Sure ya' are," Jesse responded, "and so am I. It just takes experience and a good partnership with your spouse."

"I don't know about that," Rex said feeling sudden heat on his cheeks and neck.

"Why not?" Jesse asked.

Rex had no idea about the innermost workings of the female mind, nor did he pretend to. Shrugging, he turned back to his mug realizing it was empty. "I can't say that I entirely understand women," Rex replied while waving at the bartender for a refill. "Besides simple work-related conversations and interactions, I don't know how to deal with them. Nor have I tried."

"What about Commander Tano? She's a woman," Jesse asked, no filter included.

Before Rex could answer, the bartender handed him a new glass which he gratefully accepted while handing him a credit. Rex went straight to gulping his drink as the heat on his face intensified. "Excuse me?" He finally spoke, mustering whatever inner strength he had left to summon a poker face.

"You've worked alongside Commander Tano for a while. Surely, you understand women even minutely," Jesse suggested thoughtfully.

"Sure, I worked beside her for a while. Having spent time with her for work, it's kind of hard not to know how she is."

"Need I say more?" Jesse laughed.

Rex thought back to his first interactions with the spunky Togruta. They had met during a battle on Christophsis. She was young and small, and full of sass. If anything, Ahsoka could keep up with General Skywalker and his antics like it was breathing air. Master and Padawan—there couldn't have been a more perfect match.

At that time, Ahsoka was one of only a handful of women he knew. Their relationship was awkward in the beginning because he wasn't certain of where the line was. It was never addressed. He tried his hardest to draw one for himself to understand, especially when she displayed her simple affections. Whether it was a hand on the shoulder or a hug, he never knew how to deal with it. It took time for him to get comfortable in speaking with her in all matters: military and social. It wasn't like General Skywalker walked around high-fiving his subordinates or batting his lashes when he wanted to try out a weapon he never handled before.

Women were different; plain and simple.

"Anyway, I'm a solider. It's not proper to think of commanding officers that way..." Rex said trying to brush the matter off.

Jesse took one last gulp of his drink and chuckled before motioning to a group of troopers surrounding a Sabaac table. "Don't worry Captain, your secret is safe with me. No one needs to know you have feelings like any normal Clone would. Anyway, I'm gonna catch a game before I head back to the barracks. Good night, Sir."

Rex nodded and was left contemplating the significance of attachments. The initial idea sounded wonderful but also terrifying. Beyond battle fields, schematics, and firing ranges…what was a Clone to do? Why bother anyways? If they didn't die in battle, then their rapid aging would play a cruel part in their fates.

He thought back to the words of Clone-deserter Cut Lawquane. " _I know you think I'm a coward,_ Rex,” Cut’s voice echoed into his memory, “ _but believe me. I'll fight to my last breath to keep them safe._ "

The day he left Cut and his family behind, he often reflected the possibilities of being a father. He didn't know it could be possible until he witnessed the miracle of Cut's family. The gleam in his eyes that shown of joy was almost unfathomable. Cut had found something worth living for and yet, it was something Rex almost disregarded.

Maybe Cut and Jesse had it right.


	6. Chapter 5: Secret Summons

**Chapter 5**

The night was still young when Rex was notified to report to the Jedi Temple hangar. With one final gulp, the amber cider disappeared out of the mug, leaving a foamy residue behind. The Captain strode toward the door, leaving the dark and smoky atmosphere behind him. Stepping across the threshold of the bar, the mugginess of body heat receded as the cool night's breeze washed over his face. Sweet perfumes clung to the light air current, tickling his nose as he walked through a crowd of customers socializing on the terrace. In minutes, he hailed a cab and made his way to the temple.

The drive was a short one, but over and over the short conversation with General Skywalker played through his head. He sounded agitated and his voice a little rough as if from a lack of sleep. For the fifth time this month the General had been tasked with escorting Senator Amidala to senate meetings. Something felt off and Rex couldn't quite place it. Ever since Ahsoka left, the General seemed to become more aloof. Taking odd jobs at random hours with little time for recoup. Rex imagined the dark spots that now seemed to perpetually rim the Knight's dull eyes, drastically causing tired lines to age him. General Skywalker's gaunt appearance was the least bit healthy, especially for not being in the field.

Rex was suddenly pulled from his reverie as the cab came to a halt. Outside his windowpane, the Captain's eyes raced up the temple's looming steps which traveled a great height. Quickly he paid for his ride and began sprinting, taking the steps two or three at a time. As he crested the final flight, two cloaked statues—standing twenty feet high—greeted him on either side in solemn piety. Rex took the rest of his journey in a tempered walk as he saluted passing superior officers.

He was about two corridors away from the hangar when he turned a corner and found General Kenobi in quiet argument with a red, Mikkian Jedi at the end of the hall. Though the moment was briefly awkward, leaving Rex to consider taking an alternative route, Kenobi beckoned him with a quiet hand while not breaking eye contact with his colleague. As the Captain came forward, the two force-users ended their conversation to properly regard him.

"Captain Rex," General Kenobi started, "I believe you've met Master Tiplee?"

Rex quickly glanced over the red Mikkian, noticing a subtle tremor flicker through her cranial tendrils. "Yes, sir," the clone captain answered. 

"I remember him well," Tiplee responded evenly as she folded her arms together in front of her chest. "Just as much as I remember Anakin Skywalker," she added.

Kenobi chuckled softly as he nodded, "Indeed. He is most unforgettable."

The red Mikkian regarded her counterpart with a raised eyebrow. "So, I have been told and am beginning to understand myself."

Their casual pleasantries soon took a quick nose dive into pregnant silence. Rex shifted for a moment, as if the tension would ease out the bottom of his boots. 

"Ahem," General Kenobi coughed, a sleeve covered hand in front of his mouth. "We were just headed to the hangar a moment ago. And you...?"

Rex nodded, "The same, sir. General Skywalker requested that I report to him at the hanger before he leaves with Senator Amidala for a senate meeting."

The auburn-haired Jedi frowned for a split second, then quickly changed to an inquisitive gaze. "Ah," Kenobi replied, stroking his beard. Whatever had come to his forethoughts seemed to pass away as he regarded Rex with a small smile. "Very well then," he concluded before turning toward the direction of the hangar.

The party of three walked on in hasty silence until they reached their destination. The Captain was about to take his leave when Kenobi told Tiplee he would meet her at their ship. The auburn-haired General waited until the red Mikkian was out of ear shot before turning to Rex. 

"How often has Anakin gone out on...diplomacy missions?" General Kenobi asked.

"I don't know, sir. As often as the Senator requests for him to escort her I suppose," Rex answered truthfully. 

The Jedi nodded, but his grey-blue gaze seemed to be elsewhere from the present. "He seems to be extra busy as of late. Even—dare I say it—'out of reach'," Kenobi concluded. 

Before Rex could respond, the General clapped him on the shoulder. "Maybe I'm being anxious for nothing. He hasn't been my Padawan in some time," he sighed. "I'm sure it's nothing. Take care Captain," General Kenobi said with a smile. 

Rex nodded, "You do the same, Sir." A sense of calm rested on the Captain's shoulder as he quickly made his way over to Senator Amidala's skiff. He wasn't the only one to find Skywalker's recent behavior jarring.

As Rex rounded the flank of a parked LAAT/i, he stopped dead in his tracks. About three rows down, he saw General Skywalker and Senator Amidala talking to each other on the gangplank of her ship. They seemed to be having a serious conversation, just the two of them, and the rest of the world didn't matter. Rex quickly retreated behind the aircraft before peeking around the corner. His heart pounded in silent fear as he watched on in secrecy.

It was like he was doing recon, but worse. 

Much worse.

The Senator seemed to have finished saying something when a disgusted look came on her face. With a dismissive attitude, she turned to walk away, but stopped short. General Skywalker took her by the hand, said something brief, and let go. The two exchanged stares that meant more than whatever had been said. A small smile appeared on her lips, then she laughed. Amidala reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair out of the Jedi's face.

Rex tried to avert his gaze, but before he could, he witnessed their special moment—a kiss. The clone captain sighed as he rested his head against the cold metal of the LAAT/i. Rex shook his head as he tried to focus on the task at hand. Whatever the General was up to in his free time was on him and it wasn't any of his concern. At least, that's what Rex reasoned with himself.

A small chirp from Rex's commlink interrupted his train of thought, but it was a welcomed interruption. The clone dug into his pocket, quickly extracting the small device. "Captain Rex speaking," he answered. 

"Rex, I thought you'd be here by now," General Skywalker complained. 

"Yes, sir. The cab was—uh—delayed, Sir. Anyhow, I'm in the hangar and almost to your location,” Rex stammered.

"See you in a moment, then," the General replied.

Rex stowed the communicator back in his pocket and breathed a sigh of relief before moving forward. By the time Rex reached Amidala's skiff, he found his superior lost in thought. The Jedi Knight paced the width of the ramp until he realized he was being watched. 

"Heard a rumor you're taking some vacation time. Anything I need to know about?" General Skywalker took a moment to look Rex over, some concern resting in his eyes.

"Uh—Sir?"

"Did something happen on that last mission without me?" the General questioned bluntly.

"No, Sir."

"I heard some of our men got trapped inside the collapsed ore mine. And I just wanted to—," General Skywalker said before trailing off. "Never mind." 

Rex knew immediately what the General was getting at. He wanted to know if his Captain was losing it. His mind…that is. The clone shook his head, "I'm fine, Sir. Just thought some time off might be a good idea." 

The Jedi nodded, "Very well, then. Have someone look after the men while you're away. I'm not due back for several days."

"Yes, sir," Rex nodded.

"Ani!" a voice called from somewhere inside the skiff. 

General Skywalker looked over his shoulder, before turning a casually dismissive glance to Rex. "I've already signed off on your leave paperwork—" the General started to say. 

"Ani!" the voice called again, but closer this time. 

"As I was saying, I—"

"Ani! I've been calling for…you," Padmé started to chastise until shortly realizing they had company. 

General Skywalker coughed awkwardly into his sleeve as he looked away from his captain. "I'll be with you in a moment, Senator Amidala," the General calmly affirmed. Padmé nodded and walked away, somewhere in the farthest confines of the ship. Rex looked elsewhere, doing his best to avoid analyzing their close-up interactions.

"Anyhow, as I was saying," Skywalker began, "I've already approved your leave. Please, enjoy your time off."

Rex nodded and the two turned their backs to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, snap! Anakin and Padmé are in deep poodoo! lol
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty


	7. Chapter 6: Undercover Repairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dun dun dah daaaaaaaah! Besides my enjoyment of the Clones, Ahsoka is one of my absolute favorite Jedi. I don't know about most of you, but I really believe that Ahsoka and her values are what the Jedi should have been. Sure, she's not perfect, but at the end of the day she strives for betterment. Ahsoka is also highly introspective. She works on gauging where she's at, even evaluating the purpose behind her motives. She admits her mistakes and tries to keep a healthy balance. There's a whole lot more I could say about her, but alas...I'll just write it out. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 6  
(3 Months Later/Present Day)**

_On level 1313, the hours blend together, and the days seem to stretch on. There's no sky to behold, only dream about, as one stares up and down a seemingly endless shaft. And it's hot, muggy even. Deep into the layers of Coruscant, it was a different world completely. The destitute and the questionable barely survive the daily hostilities of lawlessness that roams unchecked. This is a high-crime stratum to live in and not even the Coruscant Shock Troopers would delve this deep. They had official orders from Chancellor Palpatine himself that forbade them from policing the area, even sting operations were discouraged._

_Truly, it is the pit of Coruscant, as the locals jest caustically._

* * *

In a small mechanic shop, across the way from a rundown landing pad, a young woman hunched over a speeder bike in ill repair. Tenderly, her oil and debris-covered hands ghosted over the cool metal of the chassis. Under the gaze of scrutiny, cerulean eyes studied the small, oblong dents pockmarking the surface. Each of the cosmetic depressions came with carbon scoring that had oxidized, purple edges. With an exasperated sigh, she got on the floor to inspect the undercarriage. As she did this, the Togruta placed a gentle hand under her left, chest-length montral to keep it from obstructing her view.

Quickly, she flicked the white and blue, striped tail over her shoulder in frustration. To her professional dismay, the mechanic realized the repulserlift was in desperate need of replacement. Parts of the casing had fused together when the unit had blown and would eventually need a re-calibration. "What a pain in the shebs," Ahsoka mumbled to herself. She wasn't in the mood for buffing out dents, let alone replacing a repulserlift on her own.

This speeder was a wreck and she was severely tempted to categorized it as: totaled.

Sighing again, she knew it wasn't an option. Not to the Shopkeeper. " _Where there is something to be fixed, there is money to be made; and time—my dear—is money_ ," echoed the squeaky voice of the Shopkeeper in her mind. This job, though it be simply labor intensive, would cost her at least a week's worth of hours as a non-Force user. She wasn't a non-Force user and being continually unable to use her innate skills was becoming the bane of her existence. This job could be completed in under half that time if she used the Force.

As if the machine knew what Ahsoka was thinking, part of the fender fell off with a loud crash. The Togruta kicked the dangling part with the toe of her black boot, completely detaching the sorry piece of metal. 

"How's it going, Princess?" called a voice from somewhere in the distance.

Out of habit, she cinched the sleeves of her orange jumpsuit tight around her waist. Pulling the bottom of her black shirt down, Ahsoka turned to address the shopkeeper, who stood just above three feet tall. "The bike is trashed. And it's going to take a week, at minimum, to fix all that's wrong with it. What exactly did the customer say 'happened'?" she asked skeptically.

The Chadra-Fan took a moment to answer as he climbed up onto a bar stool that was about the same height as himself. Taking a seat, the bat-like humanoid faced his surly mechanic with a mischievous twinkle in his beady-black eyes. 

"He rode it down a flight of stairs," he squeaked, giving into laughter.

Ahsoka scrunched her face incredulously. "Really, Corbin? We both know that's not what happened."

Corbin scratched vigorously at a newly balding patch of fur around his left ear; it almost matched a similar patch near his other ear. "The less you know, the more money I get," Corbin answered seriously as his giant ears began to twitch. "So, stop asking questions, and get to fixing it."

The terracotta skinned Togruta grabbed a hydrospanner off the bench as she turned back to the project in front of her. Somewhere behind Ahsoka's shoulder, the Chadra-Fan began crunching noisily on something she could only guess was a late lunch. Her stomach growled loudly in response like a ravenous Rancor. It was 1600 hours and even she hadn't eaten yet. "Corbin, I know you're hungry, but do you...mind? That's really distracting." In response to her question, the crunches ceased.

"Thank you," Ahsoka said appreciatively.

The shop remained relatively quiet, save for the whirring noises the hydrospanner made each time a bolt was removed.

_Whirrr. Zzzzzt. Whirrr. Zzzzzt._

As the nuts and bolts loosened, Ahsoka thought back to the first time she fixed a speeder with her Master. Anakin always had an interest in fixing mechanical problems, especially ones that occurred during a deployment. Anakin was hesitant to show Ahsoka the ropes, but he found that she was a quick learner. The two of them spent a whole day taking the bike apart as he explained what certain pieces did as they went along. Ahsoka smiled at the memory as she set a nut and bolt into a container on the workbench.

By the time they had finished their project, Ahsoka was filthy. She had black, greasy smudges haphazardly smeared on her face and arms. Captain Rex was walking onto the hangar, when she decided to get cleaned up. Unfortunately, she had stepped into a puddle of oil and skated right into the clone captain. Ahsoka blushed as she picked up the hydrospanner, remembering clearly what happened next.

Rex, thankfully, had quick reflexes and caught her in his arms. Though Ahsoka was staring into the visor of the Captain's bucket, she felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment. The clone helped right his commander before walking off as if nothing had happened. The young Jedi shook her head hoping to dislodge the ideas that suddenly began to formulate in her head.

Ahsoka was preoccupied with her internal musings, when a bolt fell to the floor and rolled somewhere behind her.

"Hey Corbin, could you grab that runaway bolt for me?"

Silence.

"Hey Corbin, did you hear—" 

Ahsoka's voice hitched, as she caught a glance of the Shopkeeper hunched unnaturally forward on the bar stool with a line of spittle dripping from his mouth. Quickly, she ran over to the unconscious Chadra-Fan and began to shake him by the shoulders. A wrapper felt out of his limp hands, as he pitched forward, tipping off his perch.

Ahsoka grabbed Corbin's small body and slid him back on the seat, preventing him from ungainly plummeting to the permacrete floor. It was then that Corbin stirred and righted himself, not paying attention to the firm grip Ahsoka had on his shoulders. The Chadra-Fan's dark eyes were heavy with weariness before sudden confusion set in.

"Jabba the Hutt's palace! What are you doing?! Get back to work!" Corbin yelled before smacking the Togruta's hands away.

"Excuse me! I helped you out just now. I thought you were dea—"

"I don't care what you thought!" Corbin barked irately.

The bat-like humanoid jumped off the bar stool and quickly scurried toward his office. "If anyone comes looking for me, then send them my way," he croaked before disappearing behind his office door. The lights in the office went out and all was silent again. Ahsoka shook her head in disbelief as she worked at not being frustrated. Images of the Chadra-Fan's limp body replayed themselves in her mind's eye and caused her to pause for a moment. 

"He really looked...dead," she whispered to herself as she went to look for the stray bolt.

Ahsoka searched the floors until she found something silver gleaming in her peripheries. The bolt had rolled under the stool Corbin had been sitting on before his prompt exit. The Togruta walked over to pick up the stray bolt when she found a small wrapper laying against the stool's leg. Ahsoka picked up the wrapper and found that it was coated with a red powdery substance. Instant knowing filled her eyes as Ahsoka looked over to the Shopkeeper's office. "Oh no, Corbin—" was all she could say before the shop's front door chimed.

Instinctively, Ahsoka jammed the wrapper into her jumpsuit pocket as footsteps started filing into the garage. "Welcome to Corbin's Repair Shop—" Ahsoka started to say as she turned and froze in place. 

Three, large Falleen strode past her and made their way to the Shopkeeper's office in silence. Their walk was casual and purposeful, as if they had been there before. Ahsoka willed herself to act normal and feigned annoyance as she waved her hand. "I guess they know where they're going."

The Togruta went back to fiddling with the speeder, pretending to appear occupied. However, internally, her senses were on high alert. The time seemed to tick by painfully slow as she anxiously waited for the Falleen to reemerge from Corbin's office. An hour later the door finally opened again. The three colossal, green giants departed from the shop as quickly and quietly as they came. Though Ahsoka felt something was wrong with the whole situation, she spared no time in getting to the Shopkeeper's office.

Corbin was hunched forward at his desk, holding his head in despair. "What am I going to do?" he asked himself. "I don't have that kind of money," he whimpered. Ahsoka quickly decided that she could make use of his distressed mental state for both of their gain. She stepped inside quietly and when Corbin turned to look at her, she casually waved a hand to hold his attention while calling on the Force.

"You should stay away from the Falleen and the shop for the next two days," Ahsoka suggested.

"I should stay away from the Falleen and the shop for the next two days," Corbin repeated blandly.

"You will go home and rethink your life," Ahsoka suggested again.

"I will go home and rethink my life," Corbin mimicked before getting up and walking out.

Satisfied that the Chadra-Fan had left, Ahsoka quickly changed out of her work clothes. She traded them in for a black, hooded vest, grey leggings, and knee-high, black leather boots. As the Togruta left the building, she harnessed the Force round about her, masking her presence as she walked through the lonesome streets. "This is it," she thought to herself.

"The last three months. All this time of waiting and pretending…I've found my lead."


	8. Chapter 7: Injured Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As we're getting deeper into the story, I'll be drawing from some plot points that haven't been officially answered (yet) in TCW series. So, it'll be touch and go theories of mine. It's been fun coming up with answers for how certain future events come about, but it's also been pretty challenging.
> 
> In not too much longer, season 7 will be released on Disney+.
> 
> I could hardly believe it when Disney announced they would complete another instalment to the series. Definitely a dream come true! We'll see how it goes. I really hope they stick with the plans Dave Filoni originally had before TCW canceled.
> 
> Anyhow…
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Enjoy! :]
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 7**

_"Rex, what do you dream about?" Ahsoka asked._

_The Captain looked over to the young Padawan, sitting cross legged as she levitated over a flat rock. He noticed her peeking over at him with a quick, one eyed glance, before turning back. Her eye closed again as a look of concentration washed over her features. The sun was setting low in the valley below them from where they camped on a nearby rocky cliff.  
_

_"What do you mean?" Rex asked inquisitively as he went back to pulling apart his DC-17's. The clone carefully took each individual piece and placed them on an old terrycloth he had set on the dirt in front of him. The old material was splotched with blaster residue, much like his hands._

_"What do you hope for?" She asked again, this time with both eyes closed._

_"I don't know, I—what's this about, Commander?"_ _Rex didn't look away this time as he began scrubbing at one of the pieces with a special wire brush.  
_

_"I heard some of the men talking about...the future—you know—after the war," she said as she searched for a way to explain her thoughts.  
_

_"They always talk about that. I reckon it's because most of them don't want to think about rapid aging," Rex guessed, "Can't say I blame them." The wire brush stopped scrapping for a moment. The Captain eyed his work with the utmost scrutiny before returning the part to the terrycloth. Taking another piece, he began the same process._ _"If the war with the Separatists lasts any longer, then we'll be old men by that point. Probably thrown away and replaced. We are meant to be replaceable," he said with a matter of fact tone._

_Unexpectedly, he heard the gravel crunch. Turning his attention to Ahsoka, he found her looking out over the darkening valley. She extended her hand out from her side and used the Force to pull the metal piece from Rex's hands. Taking the object, she eyed it briefly, before motioning to throw it.  
_

_"Wait! Don't do that," the Captain yelled, springing forward to stop her. Rex grabbed her hand, yanking the gun part from her. He studied her eyes, suddenly vexed with the Commander's actions._

_The moment was quiet and suddenly he understood what she meant._

_A breeze gently swept by, causing Ahsoka's padawan beads to jingle. She looked lost between anger and hurt. "If I threw this part away, would your sidearm still work?" She asked solemnly.  
_

_"No, Sir," Rex said, abashed. The Captain took a step back, releasing her hand, and stood uncomfortably for a quiet moment.  
_

_"Sure, the part can be replaced, but it's not the original. You would know it since this is your weapon. Right, Captain Rex?" Ahsoka sighed, folding her arms tight to her chest._ _"I know this war isn't fair, but...even we deserve to dream."_

_Ahsoka walked away, heading toward the campfire where the others sat, laughing away at who knows what. The clone captain looked down at his hand, eyeing the small metal piece that now held new meaning. Rex nervously readjusted the neck of his black under suit, before sitting on the ground again.  
_

_After taking the time to thoroughly clean and restore his twin Deece, Rex took special notice of how they worked both individually and separately_ _. There was a distinct clicking noise when the safety was disengaged from either blaster. The glide action worked smoothly without a hitch. And the grip handle was perfect in all the right places.  
_

_Putting one blaster down, Rex palmed the butt end of the remaining Deece in his left hand and focused his vision down the sight of the barrel. Sighing, he placed the weapon next to its mate on the terrycloth and looked to the darkening horizon.  
_

_The twin Deece were in perfect working condition now._

_"She's right," he thought._

* * *

**(Next Day/0430 hours)**

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

The room was dark, cool, and quiet, save for the mild snores escaping from the mouth of a slumbering occupant. Gently and rhythmically, Rex's chest rose and fell in sweet harmony. Sleep had come fast and swift last night after settling in the at the barracks. Rex had fallen asleep pin needle straight with both arms tucked behind his head. The covers were still tightly folded to the bed in strict military fashion, barely disturbed by his sleeping form.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

"Captain Rex!" a muffled voiced called somewhere beyond the door.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

"Captain Rex!" they called again.

Rex's eyes flashed open as the incessant pounding on his door startled him from sleep. "Captain Rex!" With an exasperated grunt, Rex grabbed at the datapad resting on his bedside table. The screen lit up, displaying the hour: 0430. Again, the door began to rattle against its track as the person beyond had continued a new assault. 

"Alright! Alright already. I'm awake, you di'kut!" he groused. The pounding ceased and all was silent as he slid his legs over the edge of the bed. Rex groaned as he sat forward with his head in his hands. Some tension had formed just under the base of his skull, the tendons in his neck tight with strain. Leaning back, he leaned his head to the left and to the right; earning him some pops.

The clone captain quickly stood to his feet, pushing through the sensation of dizziness, as he strode to the door in his skivvies. Pressing a finger to the inside lock, the metal door swished open, as Rex gave a stymied look to his carbon-copy—Sergeant Appo. "Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?" _Are you looking for a smack in the face, mate?_

Appo chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck with a shrug. "You told me to report first thing, Sir," he stated carefully.

Rex clicked his tongue indignantly as he jerked his head towards the inside of his room, indicating for Appo to follow. The Sergeant walked into Rex's room without a question as the door swooshed closed behind him. 

"What did you need me for, Sir?" Appo asked standing stiffly by the door. 

The clone captain gave his subordinate a once over, noticing his Sergeant was fresh off shift work. Appo was still carrying his bucket one-armed to the side and held a tired expression. Nothing a cup of caf couldn't fix.

Rex walked off to the fresher as he said, "I want you in charge while I'm off for R and R."

"Me, Sir?" Appo asked bewildered.

"Yes, Appo—you," Rex said as he turned on the water and put his head in the sink. Taking a small sample of soap, he worked the product into a foamy lather before quickly rinsing. 

"Sir, yes, Sir," Appo answered passionately.

The running water turned off as the faucet squeaked and Rex came walking out in his civvies. A towel sat across his shoulders as he dried his face and short hair with quick movements. "General Skywalker is serving as an attaché to Senator Amidala who is out for senate meetings. He won't be back for the next several days," the Captain stated. As he said their names, he fought the flood of images that came to his mind about what he saw.

"So, I—I really need someone I can trust. Who will stick with the rules," he said turning to a small mirror hanging on the wall. Rex quickly examined his face as he ran a hand over his jaw.

The Sergeant nodded an affirmative as he shifted to hold his bucket in front of him with both hands. "I can do that, Sir. Anything else before I leave?" 

Rex picked up an electric razor that sat on the desk below the mirror and began shaving away the stubble that had sprouted during the night. "No," he shook his head, "that is all Sergeant."

Appo nodded and left the room without a word.

* * *

**(Same day/0530 hours)**

With a hot cup of caf in his left hand, and the holopad in his right, Rex quietly scrolled through the Coruscanti news feeds. Even though it was three months later, the major broadcasting outlets were still talking about the Jedi Temple bombing. The articles he found were more like gossip columns riddled with ludicrous conspiracy theories. Everyone seemed to have some "important" angle to spin, trying to fill-in-the-blanks on a situation they understood very little about.

Rex took a sip of his freshly brewed caf, savoring the nutty flavor that danced on his palate. As his eyes surveyed the contents of the screen, he came across a news column that gave him pause. His knuckles went white as a sudden ire sparked a fire within him. " _Padawan Expelled for Sedition: Secret War Against Jedi and the Republic_ " it read. In addition to the jarring message, the author had attached a photo depicting a defeated Togruta standing cuffed before the sentencing tribunal. The captain slammed his mug onto the stainless-steel table, causing the contents to slosh, as he turned the holopad off.

" _Jehaat!_ " his mind cried. _Lies!_

Looking over to the mess he inadvertently made, Rex sighed with annoyance. Grabbing a napkin from the table, the Captain went to wiping up the mess as a message alert chimed from his tablet. The screen lit up, a notification from his Planetside Officer's Distro begging to be read. Rex obliged as he opened the screen and read the following:

 **[CC-3636]:** Dispatch/Cleared for approach?

 **[Dispatch]:** Affirmative.

 **[CC-3636]:** Medical assistance required.

 **[Dispatch]:** State purpose.

 **[CC-3636]:** MIA friendly recovered.

 **[Dispatch]:** Verify digits/update time period MIA.

 **[CC-3636]:** CC-5576-39/One year, six months.

 **[Dispatch]:** Cleared/Authorization granted/Medical en route.

 **[CC-3636]:** Roger, roger.

 **[Dispatch]:** Olarom yaim, Vod! ( _Welcome home, Brother!_ )

Rex quickly picked up his datapad and mug before jogging to the door. He tossed the tin mug into a tray near the doors as he exited. Several minutes later and a couple stories skyward, the Captain exited the turbolift in a jog. Rex passed through several rows of parked LAAT/i's, each a streak of white, until he came up to the offloading zone. He slowed to a fast walk, watching carefully as one of the clones on dispatch duty waved down an incoming transport.

As soon as the transport landed, several grey armored troopers jumped out, quickly forming a receiving line. The commanding officer—Wolffe—jumped out of the LAAT/i without a helmet sporting a bloodied bandage tied around his head. He turned quickly, to help a man out of the metal bird, who seemed a bit shaky. Rex paid close attention to the individual being escorted. He had long, unkempt hair, a scraggy beard, and a wild look in his eyes. Secured to his forearm, was a battered gauntlet; white with a yellow stripe.

Rex waited in the safe zone, as the Wolf Pack disbanded with a hand signal from their Commander. Wolffe was guiding his companion by the arm when he looked up to find the 501st Captain patiently waiting. He gave a gentle nod and promptly winced in pain. Rex took the gesture as an invitation before striding over. 

"Welcome home, Gregor! We thought we'd never see you again," the Captain praised. "General Kenobi will be plea—" Rex tried to say as the words suddenly caught in his throat. Looking to Commander Wolffe for reassurance, the Captain's fears were not squelched.

Wolffe shook his head with tight lips. "Kaysh dini'la," Wolffe said while motioning to tap his head. _He's insane._

Gregor jerked to a stop, his head bobbing, before eyeing Rex with an empty stare. The clone Captain gave a small smile and placed a gentle hand on the returned Commando's arm. "The nightmares—nightmares—must get back," Gregor whispered under his breath. Rex and Wolffe looked to each other unsure of what to make of it. 

"He's been doing that since we found him," Wolffe said.

Rex nodded.

Before much more could be mentioned, the on-duty medic trooper—clad in a military-issue smock—jogged over with an FX-3 droid following suit. "Commander Wolffe! Captain Rex!" the medic greeted with a salute. Commander and Captain returned the gesture.   
  
"Sergeant Coric," Wolffe greeted, "we're gonna need a hover-stretcher for ol' Gregor here."

Coric eyed the Commando suspiciously as his clinical scrutiny kicked in. Waving the FX-3 droid over, he took hold of the hover-stretcher, letting Wolffe and Rex help Gregor get strapped in. 

"How bad is the eye, Commander?" Coric asked quickly glancing at the wound.

"I'll show you when we get there," Wolffe answered.


	9. Chapter 8: Mounting Revelations

**Chapter 8**

"Yup. That eye is shuk'yc— _useless_." Coric said as he peeked under the bacta patch.

"You haven't even peeled the patch off yet," Wolffe complained.

Coric gave a flat smile before obliging the Commander and removing the bandage. The medic turned to a metal tray that sat on top of a cart. Quickly, he swiped up a small mirror and held it in front of Wolffe. "If it wasn't for the meds, I think I'd be out of my boots by now," Wolffe blanched.

Coric chuckled as he nodded, "Told you. At least the good news is, you're not dead.”

"Yeah, I guess," Wolffe mumbled flatly.

"The bad news is, we're going to have to remove the remaining ocular tissue. Then clean the socket with bacta," the medic said as he placed the mirror back into the tray.

"No, the bad news is your bedside manner is atrocious! Just like your uniform." Wolffe yelled dramatically.

"Like I haven't heard that before," Coric said sarcastically while rolling his eyes.

"Go easy on him, Coric. The man's just been told he lost his eye," Rex said, holding back a laugh. The 501st Captain stood near the bed, leaning his shoulder against the wall. As he raked a hand over his head, Rex caught Wolffe's offended look.

"This is not funny. Neither of you have lost a limb or an eye," the Commander choked as he swiped the mirror off the cart.

Coric snatched the object back, before pushing Wolffe back onto the bed. "The last thing you need is to continue looking at your eye socket. If you do that, you won't be able to eat for a month," he chided. The Wolf Pack leader looked as if he was about to choke the medic as he shot straight up off the bed. Rex walked over and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Easy now," he coaxed.

Wolffe gave Coric a dirty look as he laid back down. Rex would have said something to distract him if it hadn't been for Gregor who started cackling in a corner. "He's lost his eye and I've lost my head," he giggled, "two clones in a pod." The three sane clones exchanged similar looks of unease as Gregor started to babble unintelligibly.

"I'll—uh—be back, Sirs." Coric said, eying the cracked Commando in the corner suspiciously. Rex and Wolffe nodded. "Gotta see a droid about some cauterizing tools and fresh bacta."

As Coric walked out of the room, Wolffe sighed sullenly. Both Commander and Captain regarded Gregor with similar looks of unease. When Coric came back to the room with supplies and a droid, Rex and Gregor were ordered to stay outside the room until the procedures were done. Two hours passed when Coric finally unlocked the door to the room. Rex guided a silent Gregor by the arm to his previous seat in the corner.

"How'd it go?" Rex asked.

"Good," Coric reported, walking back to his supply cart.

"It was fine until he poured the bacta into my skull. It was like getting my brain scratched by a Rancor," Wolffe complained.

The Commander eased himself up, hunching forward, with his legs dangling over the side of the bed. "Hold still," Coric said as he stretched out a new bandage. Wolffe gripped the foam near his legs, his knuckles going white. "There, that should do it for now." Coric stepped away and handed his patient a mirror.

"I look…ridiculous," Wolffe sighed, putting the mirror in his lap.

"Eh! It's just temporary, Commander," Coric assured, "It'll take some time to get a cybernetic implant synthesized specifically for your right eye socket. Until then, this patch will have to do."

Wolffe sighed and raked a hand over the left side of his face. "Great! Can we get ol' Gregor checked out now?"

Coric nodded before turning to the Commando. "Gregor," he started with an even voice, "we need to check your head." As he said this, the medic tapped on his head with two fingers. The cracked Commando said nothing as Coric helped him up and over to the doorway.

"Captain, can you go with them? Coric might need an extra hand," Wolffe winced.

"Um, yes, Sir," Rex said as he walked out.

* * *

"Hold still," Coric stated as he attached some electrical nodes to the sides of Gregor's head.

The Commando had other plans as he tried to right himself from the bed he had been made to lay on. A medical droid stood just to the right, making small reactionary movements as Gregor continued to fidget.

"I said 'hold still'," Coric complained. With a firm grip on Gregor's shoulders, Coric pressed the clone back down with a huff. "Wayii!" Coric exclaimed. _Good grief._ "I don't know how I'm going get an accurate scan with him doing this," Coric mumbled to himself.

"The nightmares are real. Right in my head," Gregor laughed as he raked a shaky hand through his hair.

"Don't do that," Coric chastised, "you'll swipe the nodes off your head."

Rex patiently watched off to the side as Coric and Gregor fought against each other's wills. Gregor would sit up and attempt to escape the bed. Coric would shove Gregor back down. The two would struggle as they pushed against each other. Gregor would go to picking at the devises stuck to his head with medical goop. Coric would fume, rant, and then paste them back on. Though there seemed to be no intentional malice behind the Commando's actions, he was rather preoccupied. It was like he had somewhere to go.

"Something is calling," Gregor began again.

"Yeah, you've got that right. It's time you got your head examined," Coric replied cheekily. "This time however, I'm going to strap you down. Sorry, mate!"

Gregor didn't complain as he watched the restraining straps being firmly wrapped around his wrists, waist, and ankles.

"Don't you hear it?" Gregor asked incredulously.

"The only thing I hear is the machinery. Hold still will ya?" Coric went to grab his patient's head, the last part to be strapped down, when Gregor suddenly jerked. The Commando began to strain against the bindings, gnashing his teeth as he did.

"It's in my head and it doesn't stop. Let me go! It's calling me. I can't ignore it anymore," Gregor cried as he thrashed around.

Coric stood there, stunned for a moment, before grabbing at his patient's head again. The medic struggled for a moment as he tried to push Gregor's head back down. "Sir, would you...mind?" Coric asked with a strained voice. Rex quickly came over and shared in the struggle as he fought to get the strap cinched.

"Gregor!" Rex yelled. "Gregor—come on—mate. Work with us here."

The Commando quieted and stared at the Captain as a dazed expression appeared on his face.

"You've heard it too, haven't you?" Gregor questioned expressionless.

"Heard what?" Rex asked as he got the strap in place.

"It's in your dreams at night," Gregor started, "almost like a nightmare. Telling you to do it."

"Do what?" Rex asked before exchanging a worried look with Coric.

The two clones regarded their brother attentively, waiting for a reply. Gregor quieted as a thoughtful expression appeared across his face. Coric motioned for the medical droid to come over when the Commando looked to the Captain again. Gregor searched his brother's brown eyes for some time as if looking for something. Rex tried his best to remain calm, but a sneaking suspicion began to creep into his mind. As the last conversation Rex had with Fives surfaced to his forethought, Gregor finally said: "Good soldiers follow orders.”

Rex's stomach did a sick flop, as if it had suddenly plummeted to the floor. Unease began to course through him, bile threatening the back of his throat.

"What—what did you say?" Rex asked, shaking Gregor by the shoulders.

Before Gregor could answer, Coric pulled the Captain back. "Sir, don't shake my patient. He can do that part just fine on his own."

"But he—"

"Sir, why don't you ask him more questions—after—the bio scan is complete?" Coric suggested.

The Captain took a couple steps back, trying to do his best to stay calm. As the medical droid went about its business, Rex paced the room while ruminating on the conversation before. "Don't take his rambling serious, Sir. I wouldn't," the medic trooper tried to console. "I've seen plenty of able-bodied people—Clones even—go insane and rattle off nonsense. I know it can be—uh—concerning...but, there's really nothing we can do if he's cracked."

"Nonsense?! The man is a Commando. Highly trained and well-bred not to crack under pressure," Rex quipped.

Coric briefly turned to the Captain, "Even we Clones are not invincible. The brain is a delicate thing. No amount of bio-engineering can change that."

The room remained silent even after the medical droid finished its scans. Coric watched as a report popped up on one of the monitors near the bed. He skimmed through the data, his eyes racing left to right. With a click of the tongue, Coric sucked in a quick breath. "This isn't looking good, Sir." Rex raced over to the monitor, eyeing a dark spot the medic pointed to on the bio scan. "What you're looking at appears to be a tumor. However, whatever this is, it's giving a special kind of feedback. I can't tell you if it's a tumor or not without opening him up first."

"What side of the skull is this thing located at?" Rex questioned as sudden nausea wracked his stomach.

"Frontal lobe, right side," Coric said as he pointed to the spot. Rex remained silent as he thought back to what Fives had told him and General Skywalker on the night of his death. The Captain remembered the absolute look of terror the Arc Trooper held on his face. It took courage—guts—to tell them what he did.

_"The evidence—the evidence—is in here. It's—it's in all of us. Every clone!" Fives shouted fearfully._

_"What is it?" Rex questioned anxiously._

_"Organic chips, built into our genetic code," Fives said, dropping to his knees. The clone leaned against a crate, holding an arm over his head in distress. "To make us do whatever someone wants. Even kill the Jedi," he said as his lip quivered. "It's...all in here," Fives pointed again to the front, right side of his head._

_General Skywalker held his arms crossed in front of his chest. A look of concern and unbelief rested on his face as he was torn between duty and friendship. He wanted to help, but he couldn't do it trapped in an abandoned warehouse. "Let's just get you some help first," Skywalker stated after glancing to Rex. "Then, we can review everything," the General suggested. Captain Rex went to nervously scratching at the back of his head. Something was horrendously amiss here and there was nothing he could do. Fives appeared to be losing his mind and yet, what he was saying made Rex shiver at the possibility of it all._

_"You'll be okay, Fives. We'll sort this out," the Jedi Knight coaxed calmly._

_"Ahhh—you don't believe me!" Fives cried out in despair._

Fives's hopeless lament echoed through Rex causing him to shiver. It was almost the same situation all over again. Rex cringed, even Fives had looked insane. Just like Gregor does now. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. "What will happen if we extract it?" Rex asked seriously. Coric's mouth dropped open before he unceremoniously snapped it shut.

"Extract? I'm a medic, not a surgeon! There's all kinds of things that could happen," the medic answered flabbergasted.

"Like what?" the Captain questioned.

"Well, the frontal lobe is the control panel of the brain. Any number of things could happen. Mood swings. Memory loss. Poor motor function. Impaired judgment. Language problems like speech or the lack thereof," Coric listed off. "Should I continue?"

Rex thought through all the side effects Coric had snappily listed off. There was no way he could leave Gregor this way. Not like this. "We can't leave him like this," the Captain shook his head solemnly. "Do it," Rex insisted.

"What?!" Coric screeched in unbelief. The Captain must not have heard him, or at the very least, ignored him. "Sir, I...at the very least we should schedule an—"

"Do it," Rex asserted, "that's an order."

"Sir, yes, sir," Coric nodded.

As the two exchanged a serious moment, charged with frustration, Gregor began to sing to himself. "Kote! Kandosii sa kar'ta, Vode An," the Commando sang with pride. _Glory! One indomitable heart, Brothers all._ Rex and Coric turned to regard the Commando with confusion. Gregor suddenly filled with exuberant pride continued, "Coruscanta a'den mhi, Vode An!" _We the wrath of Coruscant, Brothers all._ "Bal kote, darasuum kote." _And glory, eternal glory._ "Jorso'ran kando a tome." _We shall bear its weight together._

Gregor went silent, and the song of his kinsman was like an answer: "let's do this".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had such a fun time writing this chapter for many reasons, one of them being Gregor. He's such a unique character as he's serious in TCW and then eccentric in Rebels. I'm having fun with the idea that perhaps he's slightly tweaked because of a chip malfunction. That would also explain a little more as to why he's so silly/strange in Rebels. Alas, these are some theories/thoughts I'm exploring for the purpose of this story. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty


	10. Chapter 9: Into the Face of Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hang on to your shebs! You're in for a bumpy ride.  
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 9  
(A Year Ago)**

Far away, in a vastly arid wasteland, there laid a man unconscious in the dust. The dry wind blew lightly over the desert floor, picking up sandy debris along the way. The gritty dust tinkled lightly against worn out metal as it scattered about. The man's body twitched as the air current picked up, slapping at his white and yellow body armor like a wake-up call. Just about every inch of his suit was riddled with dents; some small, some large. Parts of the plastoid plating had been charred by extreme heat as the edges appeared bubbly.

The tally-marked helmet he wore was spider cracked on the right side, with a piece of metal lodged within the center of impact. When the man came to, the wind had turned into a gust that pushed at him with urgency. The helmet's viewport buzzed with snowy chatter as it switched back and forth between the static and a desert view. The more lucid he became, the more aware he was that everything hurt.

His head throbbed violently. His tongue tasted of tangy metal, causing him a bit of nausea. Breathing was difficult, as an unnatural wheeze had set in. His ribs creaked with every breath and his core felt heavy with burden as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Gently, he worked his hands alternating between opened and closed. Next, he moved his arms and legs; rolling the joints in each section with tentativeness. He was intact…more or less.

Suddenly the wind died down, and an eerie quiet crept in. Gingerly, the armored man rose to his feet as he fought to overcome the waves of pain. He hunched forward, holding his arms to his chest, as if he was holding his ribs in place. Quickly, he surveyed the area and found himself to be alone among the heaps of metal and debris. A sudden tremor shot through his hands as visions of memory leaked into his forethought like a slow trickle.

Behind his eyelids, he saw flashes of an intense explosion and blur of motion as he remembered being blasted across the desert floor. He remembered the loud boom of Rhydonium that had rocked the area with concussive energy. Bits of memory reminded him of the plumes of smoke that had engulfed him and the ash and fiery shrapnel that had subsequently rained down from the heavens. Piles of grey dust blanketed the ground and the desert appeared to be a monochrome plane of existence.

Surely it was a miracle that he had survived the chaos.

Slowly he limped forward, his feet dragging in the dust. Here and there he would stumble over droid parts, concealed by heaps of ash. He kept his pace until he reached the city entrance next to the mining platform. The first block of buildings nearest the mining wreckage were toppled to the ground. Some people laid upon the desert floor as if asleep. Some walked around in confusion, their eyes as blank as their faces. A small, scaly creature ran around with a leash trailing behind it.

The man walked on for another block and stopped in front of a partially demolished diner. A part of the establishment's sign had been snapped in half and swung about by its wiring. The west and north-facing walls had caved in, leaving the south and west-facing walls to stand. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled off his helmet, taking in the wide ranging smells of fire and death.

As he surveyed the small diner, a flood of images poured into his mind's eye. He had worked here as a dishwasher, barely managing to get by, not knowing he had been enslaved. He was living a lie, not realizing that he was suffering under the owner's hand. His abuser was a fat and calloused Sullustan named “Borkus”. The man spat disgustedly at the memory, onto the diner's stoop, watching as globs of blood pooled together. Suddenly his head ached, and a hand shot straight to the source.

Quickly, he removed his gloved hand and saw that it came back shiny and wet with a dark fluid. It was in this moment, that he heard a desperate and strained cry of laughter. As soon as he looked around, the noise had ceased. There was no one there with him. He was all alone.

A gentle breeze picked back up, lapping his boots with sand. The laughter came again, but this time it was uproarious. Then the bouts of laughter turned boisterous and crazed. The man swiftly found himself in a roller coaster of anger and sadness; relief and disdain. The medley of feelings was bittersweet.

His chest shook and heaved in fits of ludicrous laughter at the impossibility of it all. He survived. He was free. And he...was very mad. He laughed like a lunatic into the face of madness staring back at him from the diner's broken glass.

In his lunacy, he walked himself to a small spaceport a couple blocks over. The port was devoid of workers and customers which meant the plethora of docked spacecraft was ripe for the picking. The unnamed lunatic found himself a Corellian G9 freighter—Rigger-class—sitting by itself at the far end of the port. As he approached the shuttle, he stared at the lowering gangplank. Its gears whirring with effort, until it reached the ground. As if in a trance, another fuzzy memory resurfaced.

He remembered staring into the small face of a Zilkin Colonel—named “Gascon”—who was surrounded by a motley crew of astromechs. " _You will be remembered, Captain Gregor," he said as a look of bravado passed over him. "We'll take your heroic story back to the Republic and we will watch for your return."_

Gregor walked into the ship, holding his pounding head in his hands. Pressing a button on the door's control panel, the cargo hold closed behind him. Stumbling to the cockpit, he tried to pronounce the name his memory gave him. It should have been familiar. It was on the tip of his tongue. As he tried to speak, he found that the name slipped away back into the recesses of his mind. Soon, he sat himself down in the pilot's seat, distraught over having lost the name.

" _Germaine_ ," he thought.

"No," he said aloud.

" _Grant_ ," he thought again.

"No!" he yelled. "What's my name?"

He went through a list of names he could think of starting with "G": Graham, Gary, Grayson, Gavin, Gerald, Grady, and Gregory. Suddenly he froze, pondering the last name he had come up with—"Gregory". He tried out the name pronouncing it differently every time. As he did this, he realized he was close, but "Gregory" wasn't it. "What was the name?" he questioned himself.

"Gre," he tried.

"No," he answered himself.

"Greg," he tried again.

"No. That's not it," he said between gnashed teeth.

"Gregor!" he yelled in frustration.

The man went quiet as realization ran through him and a toothy smile met his lips. Out loud, he said to himself, "My name is Gregor."

* * *

**(Current Day)**

The clone Commander was laying down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, when the doors to the suite had opened. "Mar'e!" Wolffe exclaimed. _At last!_ Tentatively, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I thought you boys got lost on the way ba—” the Wolf pack leader began before trailing off. Coric entered the room first, gently guiding the hover-stretcher that Rex was pushing. Gregor was unconscious and strapped to the gurney with a sort of peaceful look on his face. Wolffe eyed the medical bandage patch attached to Gregor's newly shaven head. The center of the patch glowed blue as its ray shield was currently active. "What happened to him?" he asked suddenly concerned.

"Surgery," Coric responded quickly as he and Rex parked the gurney at the foot of the bed.

"Well, I can see that," Wolffe said with a raised eyebrow.

"You'll have to ask the Captain. I have to make a formal report since Captain Gregor required said operation. Standard ops," the medic said as he excused himself.

When the door closed, Rex took a quick glance over his shoulder. Turning back to Wolffe, Rex took a vial from his pants pocket and handed it to him. "This is gonna sound crazy, Sir." Rex said nervously, "But please...hear me out."

The one-eyed Commander surveyed the contents of the vial before regarding Rex with a curious expression. With a nod of approval, he handed the vial back to the Captain. "Go ahead," Wolffe affirmed soberly.

"What I'm about to tell you, General Skywalker and I have not discussed with anyone," Rex began with a quiet voice. "It wasn't included on our official reports."

Wolffe perked up, hunching forward as he crossed his arms over his knees. The Wolf Pack leader nodded and waited patiently. Again, the Captain looked over his shoulder and recounted all the events of Fives' death; including the chip. As the 501st Captain finished explaining the conspiracy Fives had died for, Wolffe took a moment to stand up off the bed. "So, this—thing—you had extracted from Gregor's brain is this...chip?" As Wolffe asked this, he strode over to Gregor who remained unconscious. His brown eyes glanced over the Commando, before turning his gaze to the Captain.

"Yes, Sir," Rex affirmed.

"I don't know about this," Wolffe said scratching his neck. "This sounds—"

"Ridiculous?" Rex interjected. "I know."

Wolffe nodded.

"I couldn't believe it until now, Sir. But...the moment the medical droid extracted this," Rex said waiving the vial in front of him, "that's when I knew. When I saw it with my own two eyes, I knew, Fives was right." Rex paused, taking in Wolffe's perplexed expression, waiting for a spark of hope to ignite. "You saw the vial, Sir. You saw the chip. This—this—is what he died for." Wolffe turned away, running a gentle hand through his short, black hair.

As the door to the room opened, Coric walked in with his nose stuffed into his data pad. Rex calmly stowed the vial into his pocket as he and the Commander exuded an air of calm. "This is incredible," Coric said before pushing the data from his tablet to the bedside monitor.

"What is?" Wolffe asked glancing to the screen.

"This...is your brain scan on the left. The one the medical droid took before we cleaned out your eye socket," Coric pointed to the left side of the monitor. "And this brain scan is Gregor's," he said pointing to the right. "Notice anything in common?" Before Wolffe could answer, Coric answered his own question. "There's a dark spot in the same exact place and with the same exact feedback. I thought it was a tumor...but...it's not." Coric turned away from the monitor, looking to Rex and Wolffe. "I don't know what this is, but it looks...foreign," he finally proposed.

The Captain and Commander traded looks, confirming the same conclusion: the chip was real.

"I'll have to figure out where I put that sample. I'll need to submit it into evidence—" Coric started to say.

"Evidence?!" Rex fumed, taking a step toward the Sergeant. "I thought you were submitting a standard report?!"

"Yes, I was," Coric answered clearly startled by the outburst. "But I also had to report on the findings. Someone needs to know what we found."

"What did you say?" Rex inquired, suddenly shaking the medic. "What did your report say?"

"Basically, that we found an organic implant located in Gregor's frontal lobe. Why?" the medic questioned confoundedly.

Rex shoved Coric back, causing the medic to teeter-totter unbalanced for a moment. "The last time a man claimed that something had been implanted in a clone's brain—he died. Gregor isn't safe now. Neither are we." Coric stood gapping unceremoniously, looking back and forth between his superiors. Wolffe gave an affirmative nod as an answer to the clone's question.

"I—I—I didn't know," he said, suddenly sorry. "This is—this is all my fault," Coric admitted nervously. "I was just following protocol."

Rex quickly turned to Wolffe, "We have to get Gregor out of here. If they take him away…we'll never see him again. We need to find out more—about all of it. The chip. What it means for us clones and the Jedi."

The Commander nodded, "Agreed. This needs to be done."

"Let me help," Coric interrupted. "I got you into this mess and it's the least I can do."

Commander and Captain exchanged looks before nodding to Coric. The Sergeant went about the room, collecting some basic medical supplies into a small bag. "You're going to need this. It's cleaning products and pain killers for when you need them." Shoving the bag into the Captain's hands, Coric strode over to Gregor to check his vitals. "It'll be a little while longer, until Gregor wakes up. I don't know what kind of condition he'll be in, but just know, he may still be the same...or worse."

"Don't worry about the details, we'll figure it out later. Let's move," Wolffe ordered.

Coric moved out of the way as Rex and Wolffe took hold of the hover-stretcher and moved toward the door. The three of them quickly strode down the hall to the commons area of the triage center, when Rex urged them to stop. "Commander look at the security feed," he said pointing to some monitors located in an office near the exit. Wolffe looked through the window and saw a five-man squad heading toward them in a jog.

"That doesn't look good," Wolffe surmised.

"Who—what are they?" Coric asked with concern. "I've never seen anything like them."

Rex took special note of their armor. Their armor was decorated with red paint, like what the Coruscant Shock Troopers wore, but with a slight alteration. They had a black stripe that cuffed the upper right of their arms. "Doesn't look like CST standard issue. I don't think we want to find out either," Rex concluded.

"Might be an investigative squad," Wolffe pondered aloud.

"Then why do they have their blasters drawn?" Coric questioned apprehensively.

"Doesn't matter. Let's go," Wolffe ordered.

"You go. I'll stall them," the medic stated.

Rex was about to reject the offer, when Wolffe interjected. "If you stay, you might not make it out."

Coric thought for a moment, "I know, Sir. Now go!"

Wolffe and Rex didn't hesitate as they maneuvered Gregor's gurney toward a side door from the commons area. Coric watched as their backsides disappeared out of sight, leaving him alone amongst the chairs and tables. Seconds later, the CST-spooks barged through the triage entrance with guns primed. The medic trooper, slightly alarmed, did his best to display a professional appearance.

"Hands in the air!" one of them commanded as they aimed their blaster at Coric's head.

Coric did as he was told, being careful not to twitch. "I'm the on-duty medic," he declared quickly.

"On the ground! Hands behind your head," the same spook ordered.

Again, Coric did as he was told. Fear started to creep in as he laid on the ground, with his hands to his head. He tried not to think gruesome thoughts about sudden death, but it was unavoidable.

"Where is he?" the spook questioned.

"Where's who, Sir?" Coric asked with feigned ignorance.

"Clone Commando, CC-5576-39? Where is Gregor?" The spook demanded, shoving his blaster to the medic's head this time.

"I—I don't know. I don't know anything. He went crazy. Talking about nightmares. I filed a report, Sir. Should I show it to you?" Coric offered, fear cracking his voice.

"Take us to him immediately," the spook said with icy fervor.

"He's still recovering from the surgery. He needs his rest," the medic explained frantically. "Since I extracted the tumor—"

The last thing Coric saw was a flash of light and the treads of boots.

Then all was black.


	11. Chapter 10: Fuzzy Investigations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chapter 9 had such a fast pace and momentum toward the end, that it kind of made writing Chapter 10 a little difficult. (More so than I had anticipated.) I knew where I needed it to go, but the details were kind of hard to nail down, especially since the last chapter discussed some pretty intense topics. Now that I have Chapter 10 written, I'm pretty happy with it. Even ties up some loose ends from parts of the story (I think). This is definitely the best transition away from Rex's POV that I believe still brings a great level of intensity and continues to make things interesting.
> 
> Caution: deeper plots are ahead. 😉
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 10**

It had been hours since the Falleen thugs visited the repair shop in an ominous oppression like angels of death. Since their departure, Ahsoka had stuck to running along roof tops and balconies, chasing after them like a phantom menace. Reconnaissance missions were never her favorite and the irony of it struck her as funny. There was a day when her mind was chaotic with worry and self-doubt. She would run scenario-after-scenario through her mind's eye, hoping to see and know all the possible outcomes.

The restlessness would claw at her, demanding for complete submission. As this internal war raged against her, Ahsoka would find herself caught in an intense game of tug-of-war. Those days were behind her now. Though her time as a Jedi was far less than she would have planned—or hoped—for, she would look back with fondness. Remembering both the good and the bad; and becoming wiser for it.

Looking back, young Ahsoka would have dared to dream of becoming one of the greatest Jedi Masters ever known. Just like any child would have. Now, she realized the term was nothing more than a "title". What did she want to put in and get out of life? She asked herself this more than once since leaving the Order. What would she do with the two hands the Force had created her with?

Whatever the answer would be, Ahsoka knew the Force's plans were far greater than she could have imagined for herself.

No more would doubt steer her, but rather hope. Hope in the future and in the will of the Force.

Today Ahsoka was focused and levelheaded, while remaining open to the gentle tugs she felt in the depth of her spirit. Where it advised, she would follow. When it told her to breathe and be still, she would quiet and wait. Now was a time to jump and jump she did. The lithe Togruta hurtled down a couple stories, the lose parts of her clothing snapping behind her as it caught against the air. With feline grace, she landed lightly on her feet. Walking forward, she rested a boot on the curb of a roof top, looking down into the street two stories below.

In front of a small cantina named "Fuzzy's", a black and unmarked air taxi pulled up to the entrance. Ahsoka watched as her suspects exited their transportation and moments later disappeared behind the doors of the tavern. The vehicle stayed in place, still running, and waiting for the return of its occupants. This was their fifth destination in an hour's worth of stop-and-go activity; each place more different than the former.

A pawn shop.

A corner store.

A diner.

A motel.

Now "Fuzzy's Cantina".

All five were businesses and each establishment received a short visit from the thugs making their rounds. From her position on the roof top, Ahsoka paid special attention to the length in which they tarried. In about fifteen to twenty minutes, the Falleen walked out of the cantina. Two of the three held a case between them, arguing with vehement gestures as they disappeared into the retrofit air taxi that had waited for them. As the vehicle sped off down the long stretch of the corridor, the Togruta nimbly hopped down behind the building, into an alley.

Ahsoka propelled forward into a light jog, holding her breath as she sprinted past the dumpsters and their rotten stench. As she exited the alleyway, Ahsoka slid the hood of her vest off the top of her horns, letting the material fall to her shoulders. Striding forward with casual finesse, she gave her best efforts to appear homey and native to the atmosphere surrounding the cantina. Now was not the time to be seen, but to blend in among a weary people looking to benumb themselves.

Crossing through the threshold of "Fuzzy's Cantina", Ahsoka quickly took in her surroundings. The atmosphere was dimly lit, dense with smokey vapor, and an oppressive smell of tabac. Somewhere there was a band playing live music, enticing people to dance and sway wherever they found room. There were several locals who had drunk themselves silly under the tables while others were slumped over in their booths. Dishes were sloppily piled and stacked about the room, from tables, partitions, and floor.

Between the plethora of health code violations and the lack of sanity, Ahsoka couldn't figure out which was worse. This tavern was easily one of the worst places she had ever been to and she wanted nothing more than to make a u-turn out the door. " _No wonder they call it 'Fuzzy's'_ ," she thought to herself. " _Practically everything comes to life in here, including the walls_."

Ahsoka pushed past a crowd of people, heading to the bar with one mission in mind. She needed to find the owner. As she approached the bar, Ahsoka waved to a blue, male Twi'lek that had been hand drying a batch of clean glasses. With a nod, the bartender came over with a tumbler and towel in hand. "I need to see the owner," she said, yelling over the band music. The Twi'lek pointed in response, causing Ahsoka to turn awkwardly to see where he directed. Two booths away from the stage, a Pa'lowick sat by themselves, twirling a long scaly finger in their drink.

Ahsoka thanked the Twi'lek who only grunted in response as he returned to his task. Hastily, the Togruta wove through the clusters of customers until she made it to the booth. "Hi, are you 'Fuzzy'—the owner?" she asked. The Pa'lowick regarded her with a bored and inconvenienced look as she took a tentative sip from her glass.

"I'm busy. Lodge all complaints with the bar," Fuzzy said hoarsely.

The reptilian humanoid rested her elbow to the table as she placed an open hand to her cheek. With a long sigh, she went back to swirling her drink with a finger as if it would drown out the problems around her. Ahsoka noticed that whatever semblance of makeup Fuzzy had worn was smudged under her protruding blue eyes.

"No, you misunderstand. I'm not here to complain about anything," Ahsoka defended. Though it would have been nice had the place been cleaner. "Can I—,"Ahsoka gestured to sit. As Ahsoka sat down, the Pa'lowick removed a small feathered hat from her head and used it to swipe at her eyes.

"Yeah, do whatever," Fuzzy slurred dismally. "If you're not here to criticize me, then why are you here?"

"You're a friend of Corbin's, right? Corbin…as in the owner of 'Corbin's Repair Shop' in section—"

Fuzzy waved a scaly hand between herself and Ahsoka with urgency, desperately wishing for the Togruta's silence. An irritated tick worked in Ahsoka's jaw as she sat up straight, crossed her arms, and remained tight lipped. The Pa'lowick looked around apprehensively, as if concerned her darkest secret would leak into the air. "Yeah, I know the little bat," she groused, "What of it?" Ahsoka's white brow arched upward in reaction to the demeaning term. Perhaps, she had unintentionally poked a sore spot. Without a word, Ahsoka slid a terracotta colored hand across the table, placing a wrapper next to Fuzzy's glass.

The reptilian humanoid looked down with big eyes as an ashen shade settled over her yellow and purple spotted skin. Fuzzy looked to Ahsoka before swiping the wrapper out of sight with a quick motion. "I told Corbin I was good for the money and would even pay him double once the speeder was fixed," she griped indignantly. "What gives?"

" _Ah, so she's the owner of the bike_ ," Ahsoka thought to herself as she leaned against the backrest of the booth. Keeping an even expression on her face, she pondered the meaning of their conversation and what it had to do with the thugs and Corbin. The shopkeeper seemed to owe the Falleen money. Fuzzy on the other hand had it worse. The Pa'lowick owed several parties and somehow, it coincided with the wrapper that once held the spice.

"Corbin is unsure you'll come through," Ahsoka finally answered, deciding to play along. "He lacks—motivation—a reason to trust that you won't go back on the deal."

"This can't be happening," the Pa'lowick huffed dejectedly as she hid her face behind her hands. "I can't pay him anymore than promised and...an advanced payment isn't possible."

"You're in luck. He doesn't want more money," Ahsoka assured with a bored expression.

Fuzzy nervously sipped at her drink, then set the glass down with a _clink_. "I knew—I just knew—Corbin was gonna' would do this," she hissed. "He hasn't stopped talking about the other night."

"With the bike?" Ahsoka suggested, trying to link a piece of the puzzle together.

Fuzzy uttered a Huttese curse under her breath as she went to staring at the contents of her drink. At the bottom of the glass filled with ice and clear, blue liquid was a worm wiggling in vain for freedom. Every so often, the small creature would bend upwards and side-to-side, hoping to make progress from the bottom of its liquored pit. Ahsoka couldn't help but think how it closely mirrored Fuzzy and the impossible situation she was silently struggling through. A part of Ahsoka felt sorry for pressing the Pa'lowick for information, but at least it wasn't being done needlessly. The Togruta frowned, as a wave of guilt pressed against her conscience.

"What did that sleemo bat tell you?" Fuzzy growled in frustration.

Ahsoka shrugged, "Oh, not much. Nothing more than could be inferred by the carbon scoring."

"Alright," the reptilian humanoid croaked. "What does he want from me?"

"He wants proof," Ahsoka stated loosely before pointing to the wrapper concealed in Fuzzy's hand.

Again, the female Pa'lowick blanched, but this time a sickly shade of green and brown spots. "You see that Twi'lek—the bar tender—that is?" Fuzzy said pointing to her hireling. Ahsoka took a quick glance before giving an affirmative nod. "Ol' tailhead over there got his tongue cut out after his brother failed to deliver the warehouse supply on time. They shot the brother dead three months ago and left him for the spooks to find. That's Corbin's proof. Right there!" Fuzzy snarled as she jabbed a finger toward the bar.

Ahsoka suddenly recalled the Twi'lek jewelry vendor she had met after leaving the Jedi Temple. A sweet scent wafted under her nose as she pictured the warehouse full of spice in her mind's eye. The "brother" had met an unfortunate end that day. The Togruta sighed as her mauve colored lips tightened into a frown. "One more mistake and it's on me and his ugly, white Sister." Scoffing, the scaly reptilian added, "I don't know how anyone, especially those Clones, would think she's pretty."

"Sister?" Ahsoka questioned as her reverie was broken.

"Yeah, Sister. She's the one who makes the drops on the surface. Usually chats it up at that Clone bar. What's it called?—Oh yeah! 79's!" Fuzzy took another sip of her drink before smoothing a finger under an eye causing a trail of black makeup to smear to the side.

"Where's the spice now?" Ahsoka continued pressing.

"Ha!" the Pa'lowick laughed bitterly. "Corbin should know this by now. It's all there at the distribution site—the abandoned medical facility—next to the landing pad in section 'M'."

The Togruta nodded before motioning to leave. "Wait!" Fuzzy pleaded, grabbing at Ahsoka's arm. "I need you to deliver a warning to Corbin. They've been looking for him...again. I think they plan to stop by the shop." Ahsoka shook her arm from Fuzzy's grasp as she stood to her full height. "If they haven't already been there, then tell him to lay low for a while. It's the least that I can do." The Togruta shook her head, feeling slightly disgusted, before turning her gaze to Fuzzy's protruding eyes. She didn't—she couldn't—understand Fuzzy at all.

Ahsoka chose to gloss over the fact that the Falleen had already paid Corbin a visit. There was no point, the damage had been done. "For as much as you seem to dislike him, why are you going out of your way to help him now ?" Ahsoka asked.

Fuzzy moved a long, slender leg out from under the table, showing Ahsoka a recently bandaged leg. "I owed him one," she said before taking a drink.

* * *

By late evening, Ahsoka found herself standing outside the warehouse Fuzzy had talked about. Even after a quick sprint around the perimeter, Ahsoka found that the grounds were just as desolate as the building had appeared. Even the landing pad to the south side of the structure was devoid of spacecraft. The place was quiet and unsuspecting, suggesting to the outward perspective that it had been long abandoned.

The building's white paint was hard to make out as it had fallen victim to being vandalized by a mix of juvenile and adept artists. Some windows were covered, smashed or missing all together. Where the entrance should have been, there was a monstrous mural depicting an angry Gundark with its mouth open. Ahsoka walked through the doorway of the painting and into the dense darkness of the warehouse. The air reeked of mildew and somewhere in the distance, water droplets could be heard dripping to the permacrete floor. In reaction to the earthy stench, Ahsoka pinched her nose and went to breathing through her mouth.

If Ahsoka had still been a Jedi, then storming a warehouse full of drugs would play out vastly different than attempting said operation as a solo mission. Armed with only two vibroblades and no backup was crazy talk! " _Good thing I'm used to 'crazy'_ ," Ahsoka thought, smiling to herself.

Best case scenario would have seen her and Anakin storming the abandoned warehouse with lightsabers, and a contingent of Clone Troopers. They would have started their sting operation by staging a couple of men at four different vantage points, utilizing their eyes and ears for observational purposes. Then Ahsoka would have been sent ahead with a small scouting party, including her Captain, for recon only. If all else failed, then Anakin and his men would come in saber- and blasters blazing. That's usually how it went anyways.

Unfortunately, this was not a "best case" scenario, nor was it normal circumstances. This wasn't even a sting operation. " _Recon only_ ," she repeated to herself as she walked in further. As Ahsoka pressed onward, she examined every inch of her surroundings from top-to-bottom. Undisturbed dust rested on top of everything like a thick blanket from the walls to the floors. Silken webs fell from the rafters and even draped across old equipment and crates.

The best lesson Skyguy had ever taught her was to plan for the unexpected and hope for the best. Considering the Jedi path, this was a rather unorthodox upbringing, but she wouldn't have it any other way. It had saved her more times than she could count, like the time she destroyed a droid factory with the help of Jedi Padawan Offee.

The memory came back to Ahsoka bittersweet as she remembered the spirit of comradery the two had shared together, buried under the rubble of the droid foundry on Geonosis. While they had been unsure if they had reached an untimely end, Ahsoka went to working on her busted communicator. She had diligently labored at sending a distress code to her Master by tapping exposed wires together in a series of long and short bursts.

Sadly, the predicament on Geonosis was like a foreshadowing of the girls' true natures and the way they would diverge from one another. One would remain hopeful and the other hopeless.

Barriss had become one of Ahsoka's closest friends and it made the back-handed nature of her betrayal all-the-more shocking and unpredictable. Ahsoka shook her head, trying to clear out the flood of thoughts and emotions that had begun to sting at her. Barriss and her treachery had been dealt with some time ago, but Ahsoka was still working at not reliving the past. Her forgiveness was a work-in-progress, one in which she chose to do by letting go and surrendering to the peace within the Force.

Even though Barriss fought for what she believed in, Ahsoka took a personal lesson from her former friend's misdeeds. Willingness to sacrifice others for the sake of your gain leads to selfishness which only begets a greasy kind of evil.

By the time Ahsoka had made it to the deepest part of the warehouse—the center—it was then that she began to notice the dust and cobwebs had been freshly disturbed. There were footprints in the dust, about twice the size of her own, trailing to and fro. Between all the forgotten medical appliances and outdated droids that no longer functioned, Ahsoka caught sight of a symbol—a black sun—that had been painted on the side of a trunk.

Walking over to the chest, she found that someone had sloppily slung a tarp over the top as if they had been in a hurry. Quickly, she pulled the tarp off and let the material fall to the floor next to her boots. Kneeling to the ground, Ahsoka pressed a finger to the trunk's lock and watched as the lid popped open.

Inside the chest, there were wonders to behold; from familiar ash colored boxes to black market weaponry. Ahsoka grabbed hold of a bulky piece of metal and strained to pick it up. As she hoisted it out and got a better look, Ahsoka realized what it was.

It was a jetpack.

A Mandalorian jetpack.

Even in the dim lighting, Ahsoka could clearly see the jagged Deathwatch symbol—the shape like a "w"—on the upper corner. Setting aside the jetpack, she rummaged through the other materials, finding more and more questionable provisions.

Mandalorian wrist rockets.

Flamethrowers.

Blasters.

Even a T-shaped visor.

Ahsoka sat back on her haunches, pondering the meaning of all the armaments clearly hidden within the trunk. She found more questions and not enough answers. " _What's going on here?_ " she thought. Before she could answer herself, a loud metallic screech ran through the warehouse like an old door had been pulled open.

She wasn't alone anymore.


	12. Chapter 11: Crash Course

**Chapter 11**

As Rex and Wolffe ran the length of the corridor with a stretcher between them, a wave of guilt hammered against their psyches. Rex hated having to do this, but there was no way around it. Every step they took lead them farther away from a brother they left behind to deal with impending doom. Though it would mean the end of Coric, the medic had bought them precious time they wouldn't otherwise have.

Gregor's livelihood—paid for.

Their escape from certain death—paid for.

Rex could hear the rush of blood behind his ears as a jolt of adrenaline ran through his limbs with twitchy bravado. The thump of his heart felt overwhelming with every breath, like it would burst from his ribcage. In their mad dash to the turbolift was when they suddenly heard it. The long, drawn-out pop of a blaster that pierced their souls. The finality of its bark rang through the hallways like a testimony to the lethalness of its nature.

" _Die!_ " it screamed.

Rex could feel himself flinch as he jumped into the lift, crashing a shoulder into the cool steel wall. Wolffe followed suit, fishtailing into the unforgiving siding with a grunt. A feeling of dread washed over them as Rex turned to the control panel.

_Tap! Tap! Tap!_

Rex's fingers incessantly mashed the buttons of the turbolift, desperation in every movement. _Tap! Tap! Tap!_ As the doors closed them off from the hallway of the medical ward, it had also encapsulated them in a world of anxiety. Rex's mind shifted into overdrive as thought after thought exploded against his mental fortitude. " _This is wrong!_ " Rex yelled internally. " _We shouldn't have to run away—flee like insects—from our brothers._ "

Deep inside the core of his being, Rex felt the ignition of an age-old emotion. It was hot like molten lava and it resonated with the intensity of a raging storm. In his rising ire, the Captain slammed the side of his fist into the metal wall. "Since when did we have a firing squad?!" he yelled aloud.

Wolffe said nothing.

Rex cursed.

There was no comfort to be found as they traveled downward, their spirits in poignant juxtaposition. Digital numbers counted down on the display screen in a slow crawl and with every passing symbol, Rex felt more sluggish than before. " _Could this lift be any slower?_ " the Captain thought.

"We need a plan," Wolffe finally spoke. "Where are we gonna go?"

Rex scratched at his neck. He hadn't the slightest clue. All of this was so sudden and there hadn't been time to think. "I don't know. I—I guess we should get off the planet," he ventured tentatively. "Somewhere CST can't reach."

"'Somewhere CST can't reach', eh?" Wolffe repeated thoughtfully.

Rex nodded.

"Maybe we don't have to go off planet," Wolffe pondered aloud.

"How do you mean?" Rex asked, shooting the Commander a confused look.

"As it stands, we don't have a plan. Let alone an idea of where to go. Much less, where to take Gregor." Wolffe stared into Rex's unyielding gaze as a sobering moment yawned between them. "Until we know the logistics, perhaps we don't have to go too far. Not yet." Wolffe ran a hand through his hair, speckles of silver shining in the harsh light of the lift. "CST might be able to go to a lot of places, but even _they_ are subject to the Chancellor's behests."

"I don't get it. What do you mean?" the Captain questioned impatiently; his curiosity piqued.

"What I'm saying is, CST can't travel to _every_ level of Coruscant." As Wolffe mentioned this, he went back to staring at the display panel. "I remember overhearing some CST folks in passing one time. It was during the hunt for…Commander Tano." Wolffe's voice lowered tentatively with a mix of reverence and embarrassment. "One of them was concerned that the chase would take them to level 1313—an out-of-bounds jurisdiction."

Rex opened his mouth to answer, but his attention was swiftly diverted elsewhere as the turbolift came to a screeching halt. The cabin jerked, launching the men about like ungainly rag dolls. Gregor rolled off the side the hover stretcher, landing in between Captain and Commander. Both men grunted in reaction to the sudden weight. Quickly, they scrambled to their feet as they hefted Gregor on their shoulders. The Commando's head slumped forward unnaturally as his legs hung limply beneath.

"What happened?" Wolffe asked with a grunt of effort.

"I don't know," Rex said, doing the same. "Perhaps, the Spooks are covering their shebs. They obviously haven't found Gregor yet. Could be they are quarantining the area and all modes of transportation."

"Lockdown," Wolffe agreed.

"Hold him for a moment, would ya? Maybe we can get the doors open. If we're lucky, then we'll be between floors." Rex cautiously let go of Gregor's shoulder and watched as Wolffe shifted to lift the Commando from beneath his arms.

"As General Plo Koon liked to tell me—" Wolffe started but was quickly interrupted.

"There's no such thing as 'luck'. I know," Rex finished.

Wolffe laughed dryly, "Jedi."

Rex didn't comment as he worked his fingers between the crease of the lift's doors. Slowly, he pulled sideways, doing his best to not let his fingers slip. With a teeth-gnashing grunt, Rex braced himself with a boot to the wall. "Commander…Tano," he grunted, "always told me that." He grunted again. "She hated saying it…as much as she was…told it."

Finally, the doors to the lift budged and slid back on its track. "Trust the will of the Force," Rex sighed as he looked to the Wolfpack Commander. "That's what she told me."

"Looks like we're in between floors," Wolffe commented, glossing over the Jedi doctrine.

Rex turned back and found part of their exit was blocked by permacrete about the height of his torso. The two wasted no time as they hoisted Gregor through the gap, pushing him away from the lift with team effort. Wolffe climbed through the doors next, leaving Rex last. As the Captain pulled himself onto the floor and rolled to his feet, the turbolift suddenly plunged below, leaving an empty dark gap where it should have been.

Rex and Wolffe exchanged equal looks of surprise.

"And they say there's 'no such thing as luck'," Wolffe scoffed. "What a load of duse." _Rubbish_.

Rex chuckled. Wolffe may not have been a firm believer in the ways of the Jedi, but he was loyal. A cynic perhaps, but loyal, nonetheless. With a shake of his head, the Captain grabbed Gregor's right arm while Wolffe took the left. Together, they hoisted the Commando between themselves and headed for the nearest exit.

As they left the lobby, Captain and Commander found themselves standing on a small landing platform overlooking the Coruscant cityscape. It was afternoon and the sun was at its zenith, its light casting an unbearable heat even through the towering structures. Rex watched as heatwaves roiled up from the permacrete floor, reminding him of the warmth that came from a sizzling campfire.

"There," Wolffe pointed.

At the far end of the platform was an empty senate transport speeder with a sign posted explaining it was decommissioned for maintenance. The clones hastily walked over to the vehicle and boarded, dismissing the notice. Rex went to working on the controls as Wolffe laid Gregor into one of the passenger seats.

Within minutes, the transport came to life after some diligent jury-rigging—more like "aggressive negotiations". Before they drifted away from the platform, they heard a steady chirp from Wolffe's pack. Rex looked over and found the Commander retrieving a white and yellow gauntlet from among the supplies Coric had given them.

" _Wolffe must have held onto it for safekeeping_ ," Rex supposed.

The Commander began fiddling with the piece of Commando tech until a loud screech erupted. They heard voices; unfamiliar ones at that. "What the haran is that?" Rex exclaimed. Wolffe didn't answer as he listened in, his eyes looking distractedly off into the distance.

"We need to go," the Commander finally stated. "They're searching all exits as we speak."

"How can you reach their channels?" Rex asked surprised.

Wolffe held up the commlink, shaking it for effect. "The first gen- Commando communications devices came with a comm hacking suite. Standard issue." Rex watched as Wolffe pulled the gadget back to his ear. "It sounds like they're calling in reinforcements. Their search parameters are widening, and they've got backup."

Rex huffed out his mounting anxiety and turned to the task ahead of him. After pressing a couple buttons and flipping some switches, he began to guide the transport out of the port with the turn of the wheel. There was too much going on and not enough time to think. The Captain cleared his mind and let his training take over. Muscle memory was the best instinct to have when the brain was too distracted.

They moved forward.

They descended.

* * *

Very little had been said between them since their departure. The tension had been mounting in the cabin for some time, becoming a thick oppression of worry. Rex's knuckles had gone white as he controlled the steering wheel with an iron grip. The Captain did his best to keep them hidden among the flow of traffic, his movements natural and smooth.

Descending the sublevels of Coruscant proved far trickier than they had imagined. About a quarter of the trip down they found that security began to tighten, and certain corridors were being patrolled by CST. Several times, Rex witnessed commercial cruisers and various other forms of multi-passenger vehicles being pulled off to the side of traffic zones for an impromptu search. The likelihood for further checkpoints increased dramatically the more they observed.

On occasion the commlink would chirp, cutting through the cabin's disquiet. Sometimes they heard small voices conversing over the channel's static. Wolffe remained standing in the isle like a faithful sentinel, a mask of resolve covering his set facial expression. The Commander was listening intently, prepared to make sudden judgement calls if need be.

"Where should we land when we get to level 1313?" Rex inquired.

"I was thinking—" Wolffe began to say, but his words fell short as Gregor began to stir.

The Commando sat up in the seat with a hand to his shaved head as the other rubbed the sleep out of his eye. Rex and Wolffe exchanged equal looks of concern before turning their attention back to Gregor. Their brother seemed to be in a somber mood at first, but it soon melted away as he looked around with a bewildered expression.

Wolffe was the first to engage him "Welcome back, soldier, you—"

"Am I not a good soldier anymore?" Gregor suddenly cut in, his voice laced with concern.

"What? Um… Of course, you're a good soldier," Wolffe defended, clearly confused.

"Oh…good." Gregor said with a wince. "The—the voices…they're gone. It feels less crowded in here." As the Commando said this, he looked to Wolffe in part amazement and confusion. The Commander shifted on his feet as a little unease ran through him. Wolffe wasn't sure what to expect. "Wait! They're…they're gone.

"Of course, they're gone," Gregor hissed to himself. "Don't listen to them!"

Gregor motioned to stand but staggered a little as he went to holding his head with both hands. "Why—why does my head hurt?" he groaned with complaint.

"Whoa, wait a minute there, Commando, you shouldn't get up yet. You've just had surgery and we're still trying to get you safely away from…" Wolffe's voice faltered for a moment, trying to find the right words to speak.

"From our own Clone brothers," Rex added solemnly. "Set on us like a bunch of Nek Battle Dogs."

There was a momentary silence that hung in the air, becoming more awkward and uncomfortable with every level that they descended. However, Gregor was the first to pierce through the tension. "That's terrible," he croaked, staggering into the isle. Wolffe motioned to catch the stumbling man but was caught off guard when a shoulder was shoved harshly into his ribs. Both clones tumbled to the ground in a heap, their limbs tangling together.

Instinctively, Wolffe sucked in a series of breaths, gasping for much needed air. He clutched desperately at his ribs as the shockwave of pain continued to pulse through him. Gregor yelled in pain as he scrambled to get back to his feet. Rex quickly engaged the autopilot sequence, before hopping out of the driver's seat. Motioning to grab Gregor by the arm, Rex suddenly realized he had made a terrible mistake as he was tackled to the floor.

"Don't listen! Don't listen to the voices," Gregor yelled, shaking Rex by the shoulders.

The Captain grabbed at Gregor's balled fists, working to remove the Commando's grip from his clothing. As the two struggled against each other, Wolffe got to his feet and went to yanking at Gregor's shoulders in an attempt at a swift removal. Without a moment's thought, Gregor sprung forward to his feet. The Commando flew forward, stumbling over Rex and smashing directly into the dashboard in an unceremonious heap.

The cruiser lurched unnaturally before the clones found themselves falling up forthwith. They dropped about 500 meters before Rex could finally drag himself back to the console. Every proceeding handhold was important, losing his grip could cost them dearly. Rex struggled to hold onto the fabric of the seat, his legs dangling uncontrollably above him. The fear of eminent death propelled him forward with every inch.

Even once he could reach the controls, it was still a battle just to avoid smacking into buildings and skyway traffic. Rex desperately fought to stop the freefall Gregor had unwittingly triggered by throwing every ounce of power into the jury-rigged cruiser he could muster.

By some miracle, Rex kept them from exploding into the permacrete, but only just. After grazing past several buildings and nearly crashing into a hovering dumpster, they came to a screeching halt. The cruiser skidded up to the last foot of walkway before the shaft's drop-off. Gregor belatedly screamed bloody murder and Wolffe laughed hysterically. Rex felt like the mixture of both emotions. A sigh of relief escaped his parted lips as he leaned forward and rested his head on the steering wheel.

"I don't think you ever told me," Wolffe started, "but, what was this dump bucket under maintenance for?"

Rex lifted his head and regarded Wolffe with a deadpan expression. "An oil change, Sir."

Wolffe busted out in another fit of laughter. Clearly, his sense of humor was as ill-timed as their plummeting descent. All it took was a death-defying experience for the Wolfpack leader to abandon his poker-face.

"Wayii!" Rex exclaimed slumping back into his seat. _Good grief!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Truth be told, I had a majority of this written over the weekend. However, I didn't truly finish it until last night. I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out and yes…yes we are finally getting to the plot's interconnected content. {eyebrows wiggle} Based on "how" this ended, you should know what I'm talking about. 😉 Pretty exciting stuff.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty


	13. Chapter 12: Paths Converge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Disney.
> 
> A/N: Sorry for the momentary hiatus. Life caught up with me and so did another fanfic. LOL I owe you guys one. Just as a heads up, this chapter is in three different perspectives. I made sure to use a horizontal line before swapping the POV.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 12**

* * *

The first thing they did was set the cruiser ablaze like a funeral pyre. Being the battle-hardened, war veterans that they were, Rex and Wolffe worked diligently to extract the rhydonium from the fuel tank. They slashed open a fuel line letting the combustible free fall into a bucket they had scrounged from a nearby dumpster. As the fuel leaked out onto the ground, Rex hefted the material inside the cabin. He walked to the back of the cabin and began drizzling the rhydonium over floor and upholstery. The fumes were powerful strong, numbing his brain as he peddled backwards.

Satisfied all had been drenched, he tossed the bucket out of sight and out of mind and exited the cruiser.

The trio ducked behind a dumpster as Wolffe threw a makeshift cocktail at the cruiser. They held their ears and braced themselves against their refuge of garbage-toting steel. The cruiser exploded with a loud _boom_ , breaking out into flames and fast flying shrapnel. Together they stood surveying the damage with critical stares. Flames danced over glossy brown eyes as the fire lapped at the wreckage in greedy hunger. Though the job was sloppy, it would suit their purposes.

As Rex and Wolffe turned to discuss their options, Gregor made a noise that mimicked the sound of an explosion. Then he yelled, "Boom!" Captain and Commander were caught by pleasant surprise as a grin worked against their lips. The carefree attitude brought memories back to Rex of his days on Kamino. Though his childhood was short lived, he could recall the noises each Clone child—brother—would make when learning about ordinances. Fun wasn't something they were privileged to have, let alone encouraged by their government caretakers. In their youthfulness, they stole the small moments as they came, even if it meant losing some rack time.

"What now?" Gregor asked, suddenly serious.

"First order of business, find out where we landed," Wolffe answered as his brows furrowed quizzically. Shooting Rex a questioning look, Wolffe's expression was enough to ask the obvious. _Is it always going to be like this?_

Rex shrugged. _Your guess is as good as mine_.

"Second, lay low," Wolffe followed up. "We're out of our element here. Last thing we want to do is draw attention to ourselves."

Gregor nodded thoughtfully.

As Rex listened to the Commander detailing their next moves, he took a cursory look about. His brown eyes darted left and right, and up and down, noting the equal amounts of wear between building and permacrete. Rex surmised that they landed in an abandoned business district as his eyes locked onto exposed wiring above a doorway. A tall and long holoprojector used to be attached to the siding, but now laid upon the ground in a heap of dead technology. Additionally, Rex found that most of the windows along the corridor were smashed or missing. Even old trash littered the walkway, some patches more dense than others.

Down yonder, a glint of some unnatural shine caught Rex's attention. Focusing on his line of scrutiny down the passageway, Rex found several speeders headed in their direction in a phantasmal charge. As they approached, he heard the distant whine of an engine announcing its soon-to-be arrival like a siren's warning. "Plan number two isn't going to work," he finally spoke, interrupting Wolffe's scheming efforts.

"What? Why not?" the Commander questioned, shooting the back of Rex's head a critical look. Wolffe's stare was quickly rerouted to the movement in the distance beyond Rex's current position. "That's not good," he finally surmised.

A small fleet of airspeeders in a v-shape formation skimmed the permacrete with a soundless glide, save for the Swoop bike taking point. The bike pulsed forward with a loud _zoom_ , ricocheting off the rising walls of nearby buildings. The rider was rather large and hunched forward, their long black hair whipping freely behind themselves. The speeders following suit were nothing fancy, just the average skimmer found—no doubt stolen—on the Coruscant skyways. In each cruiser, were two similarly large looking individuals with distinctively long, black hair.

"Nope," Rex replied soberly while looking back to his companions.

Gregor laughed. Wolffe frowned. Rex sighed.

* * *

As the posse approached, Commander Wolffe watched as the leader on the Swoop bike took aim. The Falleen fired off a single shot before a shower of red bolts propelled forward on either side of him, peppering the clones' direction. "Viinir!" Wolffe commanded. _Run!_ It didn't take field training to know what to do next-it was purely instinctual. They ran and they ran hard. Wasting no time rounding corners, the trio dodged blaster fire while creating barricades with what they could find.

Dumpsters.

Free-rolling vehicles.

Barrel drums.

Their obstacles weren't especially effective, but it was enough to at least narrow the spread of their attackers and slightly slow their advance.

As they careened left around a nearby corner, they unwittingly turned into a dead-end. They each exchanged looks of knowing concern, but plunged forward, nonetheless. Together they worked to scale a wall about two men high. Rex was at the top, turning to hoist Gregor up from Wolffe's shoulders, when they heard a cacophony of metal crashing against metal. By the sounds of it, the enemy had driven into the last of their impromptu barricades.

While Gregor shimmied the rest of the way up, slinging an inelegant leg over the wall, Wolffe kept his arms up in tentative support. "Come on Commander," Rex yelled. As the 501st Captain leaned downward to grab for Wolffe's hand, the Commander dropped his arms. " _This isn't going to work_ ," he thought to himself, " _there's too much of a gap between us._ " Shaking his head, Wolffe called up to Rex, "Go! Go on without me, Captain."

"I'm not leaving you behind," Rex growled. "Not you too. There's still time. We're in this together, Vode!"

"Vode!" Gregor mimicked with comparable bravado. _Brother!_

The Commander said nothing more on the matter as he nodded in the affirmative. Reaching up, he grabbed for Rex's hand, their fingers ghosting past each other's as they were shy of precious feet. Gregor had the advantage of being atop his shoulders, but Wolffe had no one to hoist him up from the ground. He tried jumping several times to bridge the gap with no luck. Even if he was able to grab the Captain's hand, the action would risk bringing him down the hard way.

"It's no use," Wolffe finally concluded with a matter-of-fact tone.

As the Commander uttered these ugly words of defeat, he looked up and found Gregor pointing. Looking away from the wall and to his right, Wolffe found a ladder that had been welded to the side of the building. It was about half the height of what he was currently trying to bridge with futile jumps. He grinned like a wolf. "How's your climbing skills?" Gregor cackled madly. "Jump! Jump! Jump!"

"Wayii!" Wolffe exclaimed. _Good grief!_ How could they have overlooked such a detail? "And Jedi say there's 'no such thing as luck'," he yelled to no one in particular.

Jogging over to the ladder just overhead, he crouched slightly before springing from the balls of his feet. Leaping upward Wolffe grabbed onto the rungs and pulled himself up with muscle strength and sheer willpower. As the Commander did this, he heard Gregor yell, "Look out!" The clone's upward progress came to a halt as he felt an iron grasp yanking at his dangling legs. Wolffe held on tightly and began kicking wildly. The toe of his boot collided with something fleshy as a squishy pop followed suit.

The grip released and Wolffe worked himself back up the rungs.

As the Commander took to the high ground, it brought on another world of problems. Being bombarded by blaster bolts, for one, made him fair pickings. An easy target. The other issue at hand, he would have to escape the assailants alone due to his unplanned divergence from the group. Which lead into the third problem—regrouping. As he slung a leg over the building's railing a red blaster bolt collided with his shoulder. Wolffe fell forward onto the permacrete roof, rolling a couple feet until he laid on his back.

With clenched teeth, he held back a yell, and worked at controlling his breathing. Breathing deep; exhaling ten counts. Breathing deep; exhaling ten counts again. Wolffe heard the thundering of his heart in his ears as it worked in tandem with the adrenaline now coursing through his veins. The Wolf Pack leader resisted the urge to succumb to the throws of pain as he vowed to fight against the agony. In a bullheaded attempt to curb the electric pain shocking his fried epidermis, he threw a hammer punch to his thigh.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Blaster shots were the worst. If it wasn't the smell of burning flesh, then it was the singed hair or the combination thereof that did him in. The aroma of anguish was one he would never forget. Wolffe fought the gagging sensation rising against the back of his throat and pushed himself onto his feet. Running to the far end of the building, Wolffe looked over the edge and found Rex and Gregor running for their lives down the corridor.

Looking to his right, Wolffe found an adjacent building, resting about ten feet below where he stood. His lip curled in disdain as he sincerely hated the idea of parkouring the depth in his current position. Knowing there were no other options, Wolffe walked backwards until he was satisfied with the room. The Commander ran forward and sprinted off the roof. As he cleaved through the air like an explosive payload, Wolffe twisted into a somersault with the curve of bent arm and shoulder serving as his momentum's guide. At the moment of impact, he rolled a couple feet before slapping the permacrete with the flat of his hand, sending the harsh current into the ground.

His breath had left him momentarily causing him to gasp and take a moment to collect himself.

Quickly, he got to his feet and found a ladder that reached all the way to the street below. He spared not a moment further as he worked down the ladder, hand-under-hand, shoulder blazing with a fresh course of pain. It burned like acid and the smell was more acrid than before.

" _One step further_ ," he coaxed himself internally. The last several feet of ladder found Wolffe tired and achy. Letting go of the rungs, he dropped down and landed on the flat of his feet. A fresh wave of pain crashed through him and he worked to ignore it. Sweat beaded down his brow, stinging the corners of his eyes. " _One step further_ ," he reminded himself again. Taking off into a jaunt, Wolffe glided down the length of the corridor, chasing the phantom route of his brothers. " _One step further_ ," he chanted as the fire in his shoulder grew worse.

Wolffe bit back his immediate desire to curse his injuries as he crested the corner he last saw his brothers disappear behind. As he did this, an arm swung out clotheslining him harshly in the neck. The Commander fell like a bag of bricks to the ground, a sputtering mess of agony. A pair of iron grips clasped him by the front of his chest armor, effortlessly hoisting the clone up from the ground. Wolffe grabbed at the pair of hands, before throwing a sloppy punch. Wolffe's assailant—a Falleen thug—yelled something indistinguishable to his ears. The Commander didn't need a translation in Basic to know that the Falleen was calling for backup.

As Wolffe's legs dangled off the ground, he wrapped his hands around the Falleen's wrists before ramming a boot forward. He kicked his foe below the abdomen with everything he had. The Falleen instinctively recoiled in the pain, folding in half as he held himself. Wolffe grabbed the assailant by the head, gripping tightly to jet black hair, as he rammed his knee forward. As the sound of footsteps rushed up to him, Wolffe dove forward, tackling a body to the ground. As he sat up, he brought an elbow and fist up, readying to punch, but halted.

Below him laid Rex on the permacrete, arms crossed in a defensive block above his face.

The two Clones scrambled to their feet as Gregor's yelling caught their attention. The Commando was on the ground in a wrestling match with a scaly green Falleen next to a running airspeeder. The two struggled against each other, rolling back and forth as they each fought desperately for the upper hand. Gregor somehow flipped himself on top and began wailing punch after punch. The Falleen quit struggling as the last bash to the head rendered him unconscious. The Commando stood up and wiped the back of his fist over the corner of his mouth as he turned to grin at his brothers.

No sooner had the Captain and Commander walked over to Gregor, when they found themselves at gunpoint once again. All their running and evading had been for not. The Falleen were situated in front of and behind them, their vehicles successfully blocking the majority of the alleyway. Their escape routes were effectively cut off causing Wolffe to hang his head in defeat.

* * *

A shiver ran down her spine at the sound of parading footsteps echoing off the walls of the warehouse. _Click. Clack. Click. Clack._ The shuffling commotion sent adrenaline pumping through her veins and she could hear the hammering of her heart in her ears. Ahsoka's chest-length montrals twitched ever so slightly as she noted the epicenter of the reverberations were coming from the back entrance. Side glancing the trunk and its contents, Ahsoka knew there wasn't enough time to conceal everything that had been extracted from inside. As quietly as she could manage, she shut the lid to the trunk and draped the tarp over the container and loose ordinance.

The result wasn't perfect, as the cover dipped and rose like hills and valleys, but it would do.

Hefting the Mandalorian jetpack into her arms, she looked about for a place to hide. Her eyes, having adjusted to the darkness long ago, scanned the area and halted on an old Bacta tank that sat in a corner. In front of it were several piles of old medical equipment, including a deactivated medical droid that sat hunched over on the floor. Part of the tank had been covered by an old cloth that hung just barely in place.

She smiled and extended a hand forward, harnessing the power of the Force to pull the sheet back up. Tiptoeing to the corner, she paused realizing the hideaway wouldn't fit her and the jetpack. Just as a frown started tugging at her lips, an idea struck her. Ahsoka let go of the pack and let it hover in the air before her, held in place by the Force's invisible strings. In her mind's eye, she pictured where she wanted to place the item and the jetpack moved obediently.

She watched as the armament landed on top of a mountain of crates near a walkway junction before hopping behind the Bacta tank. As soon as she had hidden herself, Ahsoka became acutely aware of a nearby presence of mixed company, steadily closing the distance between them. The larger group exuded an aura of dark cruelty; one of thievery and selfishness. The dark beings encircled three individuals completely and totally…other.

Through the Force, one seemed somewhat like a child, but also fractured in soul. The second gave the impression of a bastion; a firm and unyielding mind with a strong sense of loyalty. The third was a thoroughly familiar and welcome presence. They were seasoned with wisdom and a strong hope unmarred by war. Though they be firm and committed, there was kindness and compassion rooted in their very core.

A gentle smile worked on her lips as recognition lit up her mind. The rush of nervous energy ran through her as excitement stirred deep within. Ahsoka waited and listened to the Force but found that none of the three stirred. " _They must be unconscious…_ ," the Togruta noted with a frown. The giddy nervousness swiftly dove and twisted into concern, her stomach flopping in response.

"What are we going to do with them?" a deep voice questioned.

"Yeah! They almost blew our operations," a raspy voiced concurred.

"Quiet you fools!" someone yelled with authority. The complaints ceased immediately as that someone paced about, concern in every echoing step. "It is not for us to decide. It is for the horned-one to decide." An ill foreboding arose in the air, a small knot forming in the pit of Ahsoka's stomach. Grunts of acknowledgement rang out in a baritone chorus as all came to agreement. "We can't afford another screw up!" The tone of authority changed to bitter anger as a heavy object was thrown into the depths of the warehouse.

"Ziton Moj will call and he'll want a full report on current operations. From there the news will travel to our new…Leader," as the voice spoke, there was a lilt of pungent disdain in the last word. "Between Ziton and the horned-one, they will have our heads." The voice growled, "How will we explain this?" Ahsoka could picture the person pointing to the unconscious trio as they gave their tirade.

"We don't have to tell them," someone new spoke with a hint of tentativeness. "They could just…disappear. No one will miss them."

"You imbecile! Of course, someone will. They're Clones!"

"Clones go missing in action all the time," the deep voice from before pondered aloud. "What makes this so different?"

"Even Clones aren't allowed down this far. Not on Level 1313. The only reason they could be here is if they were on a Black Ops mission." The voice of authority paused as panic began to consume them from the soul, outward. "If we kill them here, then that will bring more Special Forces to find out what happened." Their pacing suddenly stopped as a foot tapped against the permacrete with impatience. "After what happened on the surface with the receiving warehouse, that red devil will—"

A low and soft groan echoed into the room as the fractured Clone stirred from his unconscious state. The voice of authority growled as a squishy thud promptly followed. The fractured one huffed unexpectedly, the air from his lungs escaping with a pained wheeze. No other noise came from them and the pacing began afresh. "As I was saying, after what happened before, if another warehouse incident occurs, then our smuggling operation will be exposed. _We'll_ be expo—"

"What…what is this?" the leading voice spoke with a mixture of anger and fear.

"What's what?" someone questioned, dumbfounded.

"That! THAT!" they yelled. "What is that jetpack doing outside of its container?"

No one answered.

"We've…we've been compromised," they croaked.

As Ahsoka remained hidden, she felt an awakening in the Force. Two clones began to surface from their unconscious states, their willingness to fight igniting like a fire coming to life. They were waiting for an opportunity, one which she was apt to supply them with. Focusing her thoughts on the Mandalorian jetpack, she extended a hand in its general direction and pictured it coming to life.

Until now, she never knew the roar of burning thrusters would be so satisfying to her ears. Suddenly the vast room filled with a cacophony of screams, a mixture of chaos and cunning. The Clones were spurred to their feet as her distraction would be their success. They fought and they fought hard.

Ahsoka worked her way out of the cramped hideaway and plunged forward when she found herself free. She joined the skirmish in a surprise attack of vibroblades and intense acrobatics. One of the dark and hulking figures turned toward her at the sound of her footsteps and attempted to grab at her. Ahsoka took the opportunity to jump into a somersault, her blades extended outward. As she twisted in the air with feline grace, her blades cut through flesh with unnatural ease. There was hardly any resistance as a scream erupted from her attacker. She didn't stop to think as she pushed them out of her way with the Force.

Plunging forward, the Togruta dipped backwards into a cartwheel to avoid a punch that had been aimed for her jaw. She narrowly avoided the attack, a whisper of air still tickling her face as she came to her feet. Instinctively, she flung the vibroblade ahead and heard it sink into its target.

Someone rushed her from behind, hoisting her up into a bearhug. Ahsoka slammed the back of her head into the attacker, resulting in their immediate release. As she dropped to the flats of her feet, she fell into a crouch and swung a leg out in an iron sweep. The foe dropped to the floor in a heap of pain and she shoved them away with the Force as well. Satisfied that they would not resume their attack, the Togruta attempted to stand but was suddenly tackled sideways.

She and the individual grappled back and forth, tumbling this way and that. As they turned over again, Ahsoka turned the tables with a headbutt. Her forehead bit into theirs as a flash of pain erupted in her eyes. Ignoring the discomfort, she assumed a crouch over the figure and started yelling. "Stop!" They didn't listen at first as they continued to fight with her. "Stop!" she commanded, slapping the punches away as she grabbed for their collar with a purposeful shake.

"Rex! It's me. Ahsoka."

The man underneath her stopped struggling after a moment. She felt his hands rest lightly over her own that grabbed fistfuls of starched fabric. "It's me," she repeated with seriousness.

"Ahsoka?" he asked, the edge in his voice starting to slip away.

Her hands let go of Rex's stiff collar as she jumped to her feet. As she side stepped him, she gave him a hand and pulled him to his feet. She wasn't sure what to say next, but she didn't have to. The Captain pulled her to him in a rough embrace, one that was entirely unexpected but wholeheartedly received. She wrapped her arms around his torso as her head just barely rested in the crook of his neck.

As the adrenaline receded, something in their reunion changed. Perhaps it was a seed of hope or maybe she was overthinking things. Letting the matter go, she reveled in the moment of overwhelming joy. "I thought I'd never see you again," he said, his voice uncharacteristically excited as he pulled away from her.

Ahsoka wasn't sure what to say as the warmth of him was swept away with momentary puzzlement. She grinned, her hands holding the crook of his arms with a tight squeeze. "Neither did I, Rexter."


	14. Chapter 13: Catching Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Disney.

**Chapter 13**

There were so many things he wanted to say to her. His head was swimming with the possibilities as the world around him retreated into the foreground. The months they spent apart suddenly hit him like a bag of bricks and his heart thumped somewhere between disappointment and excitement. Rex knew he had missed her, but he didn’t realize how much. His chest began to ache and the meaning behind it frightened him. He had never felt this way before and the feeling that suddenly accompanied his thoughts was quite foreign.

Rex attempted to dismiss the bubbling emotions as he stepped back from Ahsoka. “ _You’re still a soldier_ ,” he thought to himself, “ _Mind on the mission first. Start where you’re at._ ” She did the same, treading a step back while hugging her arms to herself. The petite Togruta seemed like she was wrestling her own thoughts, wanting to speak her mind as her mouth opened and closed with apprehension. She seemed to give up and settled for a smile.

“I—,” she began but trailed off as Wolffe moaned in pain somewhere behind them.

Ahsoka turned and walked a couple paces toward a pile of unconscious Falleen. Spreading a hand forward, she wielded the Force with ease. Rex watched as she swept a gentle hand palm-up and flicked it to the side. An unconscious body lifted into the air, dangling awkwardly as he was swept away by an invisible Force. Where the thug had lain previously, Wolffe sat up holding his shoulder as he jostled the unstirring body next to him.

His face was contorted with pain and frustration, none of which he bothered to vocalize as he gritted his teeth. The Commander hobbled to his feet, breathing heavily from his nostrils as he asked, “Where’s Gregor?” Ahsoka and Rex took a cursory look about for their companion and found him under a tarp, comatose and dumb to the world. As they rushed to him Ahsoka swiped a hand through the air and the sheeting flew off with crisp snaps as it dropped to the ground in a heap.

Rex jogged over and knelt beside his comrade. Bringing his hand up, he rested his fingers on Gregor’s neck to check for a pulse. His uncertain thoughts subsided as he felt subtle pounding greet his fingertips, and he sighed with relief. “We found him, Sir. He’s unconscious but seems fine.” Wolffe came to Rex’s side, his steps tentative along the way. The clone Commander knelt and nodded in response, his eyes focusing on the medical bandage patch attached to Gregor's bald head. The blue ray shield glowed like a beacon in the dark, casting an aura over their faces.

"All this activity can’t be good for his head,” Wolffe eventually spoke.

“Mhmm,” Rex agreed.

“What happened to him?” Ahsoka asked, kneeling alongside Rex.

The Captain eyed her for a moment, before returning his gaze to Gregor. “Do you want the long version? Or the short version?”

“The short version, I guess,” she answered with concern laced in her voice.

“Sergeant Coric found a tumor in Gregor’s brain. We had it removed and found that it wasn’t a tumor.” Rex turned his attention to Ahsoka, looking over her thoughtful expressions cast in blue light and shadow. “Turns out it was bioengineered, organic tissue. Essentially, it’s a—”

“Chip,” Wolffe cut in. “The tumor was an implant. Coric also found one in my brain. Same place. Same size.” As he said this, he pointed to his temple, tapping it gently before dropping his hand.

“What? How can this be?” she blurted, suddenly bewildered. “Wait, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Ahsoka spoke slowly, sudden understanding sparking more questions in her mind. Rex watched as she brought a hand up to her head, visible worry dancing over her countenance.

“Yes, Sir,” Rex responded. “It’s not a coincidence. At least we don’t believe that it is. Before Fives died, he—”

“Wait, what?” her voice was almost shrill as she regarded him. Rex thought he saw her lip quiver for a moment before he blinked. There was no such sign as he looked at her afresh. Maybe he was mistaken. “Fives? He’s gone?” she asked. The question seemed hard for her to handle and she sat back, folding her legs crisscross in front of her.

Rex exchanged a guilty look with Wolffe, a silent shock crashing through him as he realized his words must have been like a punch to the gut. The Captain sighed, his head hanging in defeat. He hadn’t thought his statement through and all of what he was saying must have been a brutal awakening. “Yes. Fives is gone. Not long after you left. He—uh—was incapacitated. To put it…lightly.”

“What happened? _Why_ would this—how could this—happen?” she questioned, looking to him for answers.

“This is where the long version comes in, Sir. I don’t know if we have the time to explain it here,” Wolffe answered, his voice low and rumbly.

Ahsoka rose to her feet, a cool expression on her face as she looked elsewhere. “I’m no longer a Jedi,” she spoke evenly. “It’s Ahsoka now. Not ‘Sir’.”

Rex frowned as he stood to his feet to face her. He wanted to reach out to Ahsoka and apologize for his thoughtlessness from before. He also wanted to apologize for his habit of calling her “Sir” out of respect, knowing her departure from the Order must have been a fresh wound to her still. This was all so new and out of place. It was messing with him, going against the very training that had been his life.

He nodded slowly, trying to accept the facts. Ahsoka was no longer a Jedi. She was no longer his Commander. She was entirely something…different. He wasn’t quite sure what to think about that and he swept it aside.

“If you don’t mind me asking Si—I mean—Ahsoka,” Wolffe cut in as he started hefting Gregor up. As he stood to full height, the Commando’s head bobbed unnaturally to either side. Rex and Ahsoka turned to look at him as he winced. The Captain went to his side and helped distribute the weight between them. Gregor’s arms were slung around their necks, his head drooping forward while his legs dangled carelessly below him.

“What are you even doing here?” As Wolffe asked this, the clones looked to the former-Jedi expectantly.

“Funny you ask that,” she said, walking away. They followed her and came to a stop when she stooped down to uncover a chest with a black sun painted on it. “I came here because I was following a lead. Want the short version? Or the long version?” she cheeked.

Rex smirked, “The short version, I guess.”

“I’ve been investigating a lead for a while now.” As she said this, Ahsoka pressed a button that unlocked the trunk. The lid opened and she pulled out a small box. It was made from wood and from what Rex could tell it was painted with unique shapes. Ahsoka thumbed open the box and something dark rested inside it. A sweet smell danced against his nose and his mind started to feel numb.

“Is that…” Rex began.

“Spice?” Wolffe finished.

“Mhmm,” Ahsoka answered and closed the lid. “The day I left the order, I came across a warehouse full of the stuff on the surface.”

“Wait a minute,” Rex spoke, slowly piecing things together. “This sounds…familiar.”

He thought for a moment and suddenly a realization dawned on him. “Yeah! Jesse told me about something like this. It was at 79’s. We were talking over some drinks.” Looking between Ahsoka and Wolffe, he recalled the conversation to his forethoughts. “He was saying how the Coruscant Security Force came across a dead body in an abandoned warehouse. Said it was close to the Jedi Temple.”

Then he added, “Jesse also said he thought this incident was connected to a string of drug busts.” Pointing to the box in Ahsoka’s hand he said, “Those boxes, they were the connection—the link, if you will—between all of it. Each of CSF’s raids turned up spice.”

Ahsoka frowned and placed the box into the trunk. “I was there that night in the warehouse when it happened.” She paused for a moment and pulled something from the case. Turning to meet their gaze, Ahsoka frowned. “However, I never knew about this.” Rex and Wolffe looked down to the object in her hand. It was a distinct faceplate with a T-shaped visor. The clones exchanged identical frowns.

“What’s Mandalorian armor doing here?” Rex asked to no one in particular.

“I’m wondering the same thing,” Ahsoka said.

“We should really get going,” Wolffe interjected. “This isn’t the safest place to be right now.” He winced as Gregor started to shift between him and Rex.

“And we need to get you patched up,” Ahsoka surmised. “I know a place we can go for the time being,” she said, holding tightly to visor in her hand. “But first, we’re gonna need to grab that droid over there.” Ahsoka turned and swept her free hand through the air, palm-up. From in front of the old bacta tank arose an old medical droid, its metal joints adjusting and clacking with the sudden movement.

“Ah,” she sighed, “I’ve missed this. It’s good to be back.” Rex smiled, he understood exactly what she meant. Without another word, they all left the warehouse.

* * *

The wind swept at her montrals and they danced into the current behind her as they drifted around a corner. Her right hand worked at the shifter while she one-handed the stirring wheel. She focused on the road ahead of her, but her mind was racing between too many thoughts. Ahsoka tried to quiet them without success. The further they drove along, the louder they seemed to become.

The hum of the airspeeder vibrated through the floor of the vehicle and after a while she felt numb to the rattle. Rex sat quietly next to her, sleepiness taunting his eyes which had started to droop not too long into the drive. His eyes were closed, but she would glimpse him drumming his fingers on his thigh occasionally.

“You look different,” Rex said after a while. “Taller, maybe?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Do I?”

“I’ve never seen you without your Padawan braid. Let alone without your sabers,” he joked.

“And I’ve never seen you out of uniform,” she poked.

“I see you’re just as snippy as ever,” he volleyed.

She grinned as she shifted, their speed increasing. “Just as informative as ever,” she copped back. He laughed. Their banter died down after a while, but the smile on her lips never faded. Turning her head, she found Wolffe following closely behind them with Gregor slumped over in the passenger seat. Wolffe appeared annoyed as he elbowed the inoperable medical droid that had fallen against him. She felt sorry for him.

“Gregor looks pretty banged up,” she said, breaking the silence.

“He’ll be alright,” Rex reassured. “Commandos are made with tougher stuff than grit.” He grinned. “I’m not sure how he even made it this far. One thing is for sure, Gregor has guts.”

Ahsoka smiled, “Yeah, he does.”

“Can I ask you something?” Rex inquired with a tentative voice.

She stole a glance toward him before returning her attention to the path in front of them. Both hands were on the steering and she nodded. “Sure.”

“The day that you left,” he began, “why didn’t you say ‘goodbye’?”

Ahsoka felt a stab of guilt sour her stomach as she turned the wheel to the right. The speeder leaned into the curve before evening out, her montrals moving with the pull. Letting the steering lose in her hand, she felt the wheel adjust until she grabbed hold again. She sighed, “To be honest, I was a complete mess. I didn’t know what to do.”

She sighed and turned to look at Rex. He didn’t say much, but the frown on his face said everything. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen the way that it did.”

“I understand,” he nodded. “It was a tough day for all of us. When word reached us that you were no longer a Jedi, it hit the men hard.” He laughed humorlessly, “It took some getting used to.”

“How was An-…,” Ahsoka stopped herself from asking. As much as she wanted to know, she wasn’t sure she could bear the answer.

“I’m not sure I’m the one to ask about the General,” Rex answered, knowing what she meant. “But…he’s not really the same.”

Ahsoka nodded. “ _Neither am I_ ,” she thought to herself.

“So, you’ve been down here all this time?” Rex continued. She shook her head affirmatively and shifted the clutch, their speed decreasing. “All by yourself?” Again, she shook her head.

“Mostly,” she said. “I’ve been working in a repair shop while I waited on some leads. Tonight, I found information that proved to be invaluable. It led me to the warehouse, to you guys, and now here.”

“And now here,” he repeated with a nod. “So now what do we do, Sir?”

Ahsoka shook her head with a chuckle. “It’s just ‘Ahsoka’, Rex. Plain ol’ ‘Ahsoka’.”

“You’ve still earned your rank in my book,” Rex explained. “So now what do we do…Ahsoka?”

“For now, we get Wolffe patched up. Later, I might have to make a visit to the surface. I can’t ignore what I found today,” she said seriously. “I’m not sure what all of this means other than the obvious. Somehow the Black Sun is connected to spice and Mandalorian weaponry.” She frowned. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Yeah, I guess we’ll have to figure out a way forward. We can’t exactly bring Gregor or Wolffe to the surface right now,” Rex reasoned.

“Why not?” Ahsoka asked with a frown.

“CSF was looking all over for Gregor when Sergeant Coric sent in his report findings. They wanted him dead and anything associated with him buried.” Rex sighed nervously as he raked a hand over his stubbly scalp. “Coric died trying to get us out alive.” He cursed under his breath; pain laced in his words. “We owe it to him to survive,” Rex finally managed to say. “And make sure more of our brothers aren’t killed in vain.”

Ahsoka didn’t know what to say as she took it all in. The wind that had whipped at her montrals during the trip, lessened and finally ceased as they came to a complete stop. Ahsoka turned her attention to Rex and noticed his hand was balled into a fist in his lap. He was frustrated and filled with concern; the mood rippling off of him silently in the Force. She understood the disappointment.

Gently she reached out and put her hand on his. She wasn’t sure what to expect but was surprised he moved to accept the gesture. Rex smoothed his thumb over the top of her hand and knuckles delicately. He didn’t look at her as he let go. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I don’t know what I was doing.”

She laughed, “Don’t be.”

He smiled to her, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And Ahsoka,” he added as he put a hand to the door. She looked to him inquiringly, regarding him with her full attention. “Don’t leave again without saying ‘goodbye.”

She nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Don’t mind me. I’m just shipping away here. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty


	15. Chapter 14: Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Disney.  
> A/N: This chapter is going to work on character interactions, growth, and also dialogue. Prepare for plenty of feels! It'll be important for the latter part of the story. Here's to plot progression.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 14**

From the moment they hid themselves away in Corbin's Repair Shop, Ahsoka went to a small office in the back in search of a medkit. "Bacta patches. Bacta patches. Bacta patches," she chanted under her breath. A surge of nervousness ran through her and it poked at her with fiery darts of guilt and self-condemnation. As she searched high and low, the sound of the office door swishing open came from behind her. Ahsoka didn't bother to look over her shoulder as she opened another cabinet, she knew who it was simply by their presence.

"I'll be out in a moment," she said as she scanned over the contents of the shelves. "I'm just looking for a medkit."

"Ahsoka," she heard him say.

He spoke softly, with patience and tenderness. Perhaps with a twang of regret. Closing the cabinet door, Ahsoka sidestepped and opened the next one. "Ahsoka," he said again as his footsteps came closer. Ahsoka continued to pretend she didn't hear him, though in fact she did. She just didn't know how to face him or the hurt that was beginning to tear her open. "Ahsoka, please." As he pleaded with her, she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. The touch was firm, but gentle just like his voice. After a moment, his hand fell away.

Her cerulean eyes stared into his amber brown, filled with worry and doubt. Biting her lip nervously, she turned away from him to pace. "I didn't mean for what I said back there to hurt you," he consoled. "You know, about saying 'goodbye' and all that."

"Hurt? Who's hurt?" she said biting her thumb. "I don't know what you're talking about Rex."

He sighed, "We shouldn't play games, Commander." The Togruta's brow rose at the mention of her former title and she planted her hands on her hips for emphasis. Rex sighed, "Ahsoka." Upon his prompt correction, she folded her arms and nodded. The Captain shook his head as he chuckled softly, appreciating the sassy nature that made her who she was. "We should be honest with each other," he calmed.

Ahsoka froze in place, regarding him with her full attention as she studied his nervous expression. "I just...," he began, bridging the gap between them with a step forward. "A lot was lost that day." Rex sighed and corrected himself, " _I_ lost a lot that day. A Commander and a friend." Ahsoka looked up into his eyes, unsure of how to take what he was saying.

As she did, she noticed other things about him. The short bleach-blonde hair he wore, the rounded curve of his hairline, and his tanned skin. A shadow of dark brown stubble had just begun to grow on his jaw, chin, and upper lip. Rex stood close to her, his presence both a boon and a distraction. She noticed his lean build and his strong shoulders as well as his broad chest. There was a day when she used to crane her neck to meet his gaze, but now she barely had to tilt her head.

Ahsoka was nearing her eighteenth birthday and though they weren't far apart in conventional age standards, he appeared twice that—if not even more. This was one of the biggest problems with altering clone genetics—rapid aging—he would always look older. Feel older. Be...older. When she thought she had caught up to him, she would find herself sprinting to catch up once again. The most frustrating thing about all this was the nagging feeling that he would never notice her, or she couldn't measure up.

The Togruta halted that train of thought. Her mouth went dry as she realized what she was thinking. " _This isn't right_ ," she thought bitterly. " _Don't think of him like that_ ," she chastised herself. Her cerulean eyes flicked away from him with recoil and settled for a spot on her boots. Rex and Ahsoka...it wouldn't work. Could it? She shook her head, " _He doesn't think of me that way._ " Turning away from him, she walked over to the office desk and opened a couple drawers as she pondered all the meanings of what he spoke.

When the bottom drawer of the desk slid open, she found a white box with a green bacta tank design on top. Bending down, she grabbed the container and stood to full height. As she did, Ahsoka closed the drawer with the toe of her black boot. Rex was still watching her every move with his best poker face, and he was more unreadable now than ever. The weight of his attention was like that of a Kyber crystal examiner, analytic and objective. Whatever nervousness he had felt was no longer visible on his face. He was simply observing her, ready to listen to whatever she had to say.

Ahsoka shook the box with an "I found it" gesture, before dropping it to her side. "Rex," she sighed, "You didn't hurt me." She watched as his shoulders dropped from soldier-straight to at-ease. "I'm just...disappointed." As she said this, he seemed to bristle as if it was a reproach against him. "Not with you," she corrected quickly, "but with me." He said nothing as he shifted on his feet, leaning against a nearby shelf with his ankles crossed. Rex folded his arms over his chest, his countenance turning thoughtful and introspective.

"I feel incredibly guilty about that day. Not saying goodbye. To the guys. To...you." Ahsoka bit her lip as she tapped the medkit against her thigh. "If I could do things over again, then I would. I'm sorry—"

As Ahsoka tried to apologize, her words caught in her throat as the door to the office swished open. Wolffe leaned against the doorframe, holding onto his shoulder with a grimace on his face. "Find those patches yet?" he inquired, his teeth clenching in pain. Ahsoka nodded and walked over to hand him the medkit. The Clone Commander took it from her and regarded her with a probing expression, his one eye scrunching in what looked like a glare.

Wolffe moved to peer over her shoulder, no doubt searching for the Captain. His eye bouncing from Rex to her with a nod of his head. Nothing was spoken, but everything was said. As to what transpired between the two, Ahsoka was unsure. She peered over her shoulder and found Rex's face contorted with annoyance. The Captain cast her a quick look and his demeanor softened.

"Me'bana?" Wolffe inquired. _What's happening?_ Ahsoka turned her attention to the Commander, his appearance hard like he caught someone red handed.

"Naas. Me'copaani?" Rex asked, his voice slightly defensive. _Nothing._ _What do you want?_

Wolffe clicked his tongue with annoyance. Pointing to her, he started shaking the gesture up and down, while maintaining eye contact with Rex. His eyebrow shot up as he said, "Cuyir gar guuror kaysh?" _Are you fond of her?_ "Jetii ru uhyih cuun jate'kara," Wolffe said as he dropped his hand to his side. _Jedi are not our destiny._ The Commander nodded as a frown came to his face.

"Usen'ye," Rex retorted. _Go away!_

"Utreekov," Wolffe spoke, the tone full of chastisement. _Fool!_ "It will never work."

"No one asked you," Rex barked.

The Commander dismissed the Captain as he turned to Ahsoka, flicking his eyes to her and then the floor. "Sorry to...ruin the moment," he groused. "As you were, Captain. Ahsoka." She watched as Wolffe shuffled away, hunched over as he held himself. The door to the office closed where the Commander had stood moments ago. Ahsoka's cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the misunderstanding and she didn't dare look back at that moment.

"Don't think too much on what he said," Rex advised. "He's just...in pain." Ahsoka steeled herself, applying her own poker face, and glanced back at him. The Captain was scratching his head like he usually does when he's at a loss for words. She nodded slowly in agreement. "And, about what you were saying," he started slowly, "don't you worry about it. We're back in action now, Sir."

"Rex," she said while arching an eyebrow at him.

He laughed, "It's going to be a while before I change that."

"Captain," she teased.

"Little 'un," he poked.

Ahsoka objected to the pet name with pursed lips and placed her hands on her hips. "I'm not little anymore Rex. I'm nearly eighteen."

"Not nearly old enough," he laughed.

"I thought you said, 'experience outranks everything'?" she chuckled.

"I did," he agreed.

"Well, you're thirteen! It doesn't count. The way I see it, we're even." As she said this, Ahsoka brought her chin up cheekily, turned on her heels and walked out. Behind her was the sound of pure laughter and it made her grin.

* * *

Ahsoka worked well into the early morning, striving to get the medical droid in working condition. At some point she had fallen asleep at the workbench with a hydrospanner in her hands when someone shook her awake. Squinting, she found a hot cup of caf sitting on the table next to her elbow. As she sat up and stretched, her back popping with the movement, Rex sat down to the right of her. He was faced away from the bench, ankles crossed. "Good morning," he said, adjusting his purchase on the stool.

His amber brown eyes studied her as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Ahsoka yawned. "Morning," she mumbled in return. Taking a tentative sip from his mug, Rex made a face, but took another swig, nonetheless.

"How'd it go with the droid?" he asked, tilting his caf toward the automaton.

Ahsoka trailed her eyes over to the unit in question and sighed. "I had to fix a couple things, but it should be operable after a full charge," she answered before blowing at the steam from her mug. "More or less," Ahsoka added. "I think in another hour, we'll find out if the droid will work." As she finished answering his question, she took a sip of her caf and immediately cringed at its bitter taste.

"Do you think it will work? For extracting the chips that is?" Rex amended.

Setting aside the hot beverage, Ahsoka stood up from the stool and her stomach plummeted as it growled in immediate protest. "It should….," she dragged out the word, both in uncertainty and in the hope that he hadn't heard her stomach's protests.

Rex laughed, "Sounds like you're hungry."

Ahsoka laughed, her cheeks turning a red-orange color. "Maybe. How about you?"

He shook his head, "I should be okay for now."

"Are you sure? I've tasted ration cubes before and those things are downright awful," she complained as she shivered.

"Maybe a little," he chuckled.

"I'll go get us some real food," she said walking away.

Upon her return, Ahsoka found the guys sitting on the workshop floor facing each other. The rustling of the bags in her hands caught their attention and suddenly all three men looked like hungry little children. She laughed and enjoyed the honesty of their expressions. It's not often Clones get to eat anything other than glorified ration cubes packed with food science and bitter nutrition.

"Breakfast is served, boys!" She smirked as she pulled a box out from one of the bags. Placing it on the floor, she lightly shoved it toward them with her boot. Rex grabbed the container and opened it. A sweet scent wafted into the air between them, dense with baker's spices and nutty flavors. His eyes went big as he looked to her. "Is this…?" Rex trailed off. Wolffe and Gregor launched forward to see what was inside. All three of the Clones exchanged grins of excitement.

She smirked, "Mhmm. Uj cake."

The sticky-sweet cake didn't last long between them and she barely got a bite. Ahsoka wasn't expecting much, knowing it was their favorite. Giggling at their antics, the sound of her laughter caught Rex's attention. The clone captain frowned as he realized she hadn't gotten a piece and held out the last bite of his portion toward her. Her eyebrow rose inquisitively as a slow smile worked at her mauve colored lips. Rex's eyes rested on them for a moment before looking away with a nod. Ahsoka took the cake gratefully, not realizing his sudden behavior.

Eventually, they discussed their experiences that brought them to where they were presently. Everything from death, promotions and demotions, missions, and conspiracies. Their stories were bittersweet and at times, too much to process. It was by pure miracle they were still alive and functioning for that matter.

"So, tell me again," Ahsoka started, "Where did this chip come from? What do they do?" Her cerulean eyes gazed upon the vial in her hands, scrutinizing the organic material inside. It was strange to see an object that appeared to be living tissue but was, in fact, bioengineered for nefarious purposes.

"Fives told General Skywalker and I, these so called 'chips' have been built into our genetic code,” Rex explained, “to make us do whatever someone wants. Even—"

"Kill a Jedi," Wolffe finished. "And that one," he pointed, "came from Gregor's fat head."

"That means you've got one too," Gregor replied as he picked up the uj cake's container. He examined the contents for a moment and frowned as there was nothing left. Wolffe glared at the Commando in response, his brother oblivious to the hard-earned affront.

The former-Padawan handed the phial back to Wolffe and the Commander put it away in one of his belt packs. Pondering the full meaning of their discussion made Ahsoka's head dizzy and her stomach sick. "If what you're saying is true, then one could assume the Kaminoans are in on this." The Togruta paled, her skin turning sort of peachy. "How did we not figure this out until now? These 'chips' have been around since your birth."

"I dunno'," Rex agreed, the only thing he could think of responding with.

"I can hardly believe this," she stated, her hands covering her face. "Tup and Master Tiplar are dead because of this. And the possibilities of this happening again are…huge!" Ahsoka groaned, the sound muffled by her palms.

"The facts are the facts," Wolffe asserted, his voice flat.

Rex regarded the Commander with a frown but kept his opinions to himself.

Gregor said nothing as he licked the cake's container clean of syrup. Sitting with his legs apart, Ahsoka watched as he moved his feet side-to-side. His current mannerism reminded her of the new younglings that would arrive to the Temple. They were giddy and full of life, simply oblivious to the woes of the universe. The Commando hadn't been much for words, but he seemed at peace.

Ahsoka sighed, "You're right."

Before much else could be said between them, a clattering noise in the background caught their attention. Each of them zeroed in on the epicenter of the commotion and noticed the medical droid—an early 2-1B model—was on its feet. The silver metal of the automaton's chassis glinted under the overhead lights. Parts of its exterior had rusted or tarnished with neglect and it was missing one of its leg's exterior plating. All-in-all, it was sufficient enough for the task ahead even if it didn't appear that way.

The surgical droid began testing its limbs as Ahsoka hopped to her feet and strode over to it. "Hi," she began, "I'm Ahsoka."

"Hello," it greeted with garbled, electronic tones.

The Togruta turned to the Clones, giving them a reassuring smile. She faced the droid again with resolute determination. "We're gonna need your help with removing some implants. Can you do that for us?" She asked. Extending a hand from her side, palm-up, she motioned with the flick of her hand for the men to move forward.

"Yes," the droid affirmed, "What will I be removing?"

"Wolffe," Ahsoka inquired, "the vial…please."

One pair of footsteps clomped against the floor a little quicker than the others and Ahsoka found the Commander at her side. He opened one of his belt packs, extracted the vessel, and handed it to her. The thin container was cool to the touch and she watched as the contents sloshed about inside. Walking forward, she offered the phial to the med droid.

The automaton took a moment to scrutinize what it held and nodded after a moment. "Who is the patient?" the 2-1B medical droid asked.

"Patients, actually," Ahsoka corrected. "Rex. Wolffe. Which of you is going first?"

"I've gotten that operation done before," Gregor stated with an air of reminiscence. "Whatever you do, don't do it. It feels like a Rancor hugging you with its teeth. It's a bad time for everyone."

"I'll go," Wolffe offered with a nod. "I need to get my bandages looked at anyways."

"Okay, then," she replied. "We'll see you in a little while."

"Though I can't hear the Rancor in my head anymore. On second thought…why don't you go ahead and do it? You'll be fine." As Gregor said this, he brought his hand up to scratch his head. When his hand touched the medical bandage patch he froze with concern. "Does anyone know what this thing is doing on my head?"

Ahsoka covered a hand over her mouth as she laughed. "Gregor, you may want to go with Wolffe. That patch really should have come off a while ago."

"In our defense," Rex cut in, "there was no time."

"So, I heard. We'll make time now," she smiled.

* * *

For the last couple hours, Ahsoka sat in an upholstered chair in the small office scrolling through the holonet from her datapad. Rex had undergone chip removal surgery and was currently in "recovery" sleeping off the sedatives. Ahsoka leaned back and propped her feet up on the table, her eyes never leaving the screen. It wasn't long before sleep began to call to her, singing a lullaby only she could hear. While scanning the screen, Ahsoka's eyes went blurry, casting her sight with shadows of double vision. The Togruta nodded off, her head bobbing in the rhythm of sleep as the world around her faded to abyssal subconsciousness.

Waking with a start, Ahsoka blinked around the room wondering how long she had been numb to the world. A soft blue-white light caught her interest and she quickly realized her datapad was still running through the newsfeed. Rubbing her eyes, she leaned forward to view the latest and greatest when a name immediately caught her attention. Putting a finger on the screen, Ahsoka scrolled to the article in question, her eyes zeroing in on the accompanying picture.

The image featured an older man standing stout from a balcony with his arms behind his back. His hair was light, cut short, just like the trimmed goatee he wore. The man was clothed in fine linen that was tailored to be loose-fitting. Ahsoka's eyes flicked toward the article title and it read "Prime Minister Almec Assumes Control After the Passing of the Late Duchess Satine Kryze".

The Togruta almost knocked the tablet off the office desk as she went to swipe it up. Ahsoka jumped to her feet and ran out the office. Running through the repair shop's garage floor, she ignored the voices calling after her. Her mind was racing a mile a minute as she turned a corner and bound up a flight of steps. As she crested the second floor's landing, someone called for her again.

She ignored them as she came to a door to her left. It opened and Ahsoka walked into the room, heading straight for a small bed in the corner. Kneeling on the floor, she hefted the mattress and extracted a small black sack. As the bed fell back into place, Ahsoka stood to her feet and started rummaging through the bag.

A moment later the door opened behind her and Ahsoka turned to see who it was. Rex leaned against the doorframe, looking a little pale as he held his head. "What's all the ruckus about?" he asked. Ahsoka saw the bacta patch that had been applied to his head and she frowned.

She said nothing as she crossed the room and handed him her datapad. As he took hold of the tablet, Ahsoka went back to rummaging through the bag. Eventually she gave up, not finding what she needed. "I can't find my communicator," Ahsoka huffed and dropped the bag on the floor. "If it's not here, then I don't know where it is." As she said this, she put a hand to her forehead and raked it down her face.

Rex looked up from the tablet, waves of concern rippling off him in the force. "I remember the Duchess," he said quietly. "She was a…hard woman…but an honest one. Seemed close with General Kenobi." Ahsoka studied Rex as he brought the tablet down to his side.

"Close?" she questioned rhetorically, her face scrunching with stupefaction.

Rex shrugged and scratched his head. "Wolffe has Gregor's communicator. What do you need one for?"

"That article," Ahsoka pointed to the tablet, "I've got a bad feeling about this. If it's true, then it means the Duchess is dead and there's a traitor in her place." The Togruta began to pace for a moment, biting her thumb. "Prime Minister Almec did some terrible things when I visited Mandalore last. With the help of the Duchess's nephew, and his friends, we were able to put an end to his treachery. Black market trades. Poisonings. Dealing with thugs." Ahsoka thought back to her findings before the Falleen barged in with the clones. "And back in the warehouse, I found stockpiles of genuine Mandalorian armor and armaments in the hands of Spice gangs. This is no coincidence."

Ahsoka turned to Rex. "I've gotta get in contact with the Duchess's nephew—Korkie. If we're seeing Mandalorian armaments here in Coruscant with Spice, then we've got a big problem. Maybe he'll know what's going on. Or at the very least, know someone who does."

Rex nodded.

"How do you feel?" she finally asked taking notice of his bandage once again.

"I'm alright. My head feels…" he trailed off.

"Different?" Ahsoka suggested.

"Yeah," he agreed, "kind of flat."

"Don't worry, your head is as round as your sense of duty," she joked.

Rex chuckled as he crossed the room. "Come here, you. I owe ya' one." As he said this, Rex swept an arm out and around her neck, pulling her playfully toward him. She laughed as he rubbed his fist into her forehead. Ahsoka pushed him away, both laughing together for a time.

The lightheartedness passed from them after a moment and left an awkward air between them. Rex coughed and pressed on. "So, what are we going to do?"

Ahsoka thought for a moment, "I—I don't know. We'll have to figure it out as we go. However, I'm afraid that with what we've discovered I'll have to talk to Master—I mean—Anakin." She frowned. "I don't want to go. I'm not ready."

"You don't have to be, but what's holding you back?" Rex asked as he put a tentative hand on her shoulder.

She looked away from him, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "With all that happened, how can I face him?" Ahsoka sighed, "I've been a disappointment—"

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Rex protested quickly, both hands now gripping her shoulders. Their eyes met, blue and brown, searching for hidden answers. "That's the last thing you are 'soka." Ahsoka looked away as he brought her to him, a gentle heat spreading over her face. He had never called her that before and it felt…quite special.

"You were born for great things," he said. "You have been great, and you continue to be great. Jedi or not, a title will never be your identity. It might be what you do, but it's not who you are. Don't let the title wear you." Rex parted from her and his hands still gripping her shoulders. "You," he began slowly, "are more than you realize."

Ahsoka opened her mouth to answer, but promptly closed it. "Rex, I—I don't know what to say…"

He laughed, "You don't have to say anything."

She chuckled, her cheeks still burning. "Yeah, well, I really need to find that communicator. I'll have plenty of things to say then."

"You always do," Rex agreed.

Ahsoka leaned back into him and hugged him tight, enjoying the contact and the moment. "Thanks, Rexter." She couldn't help but sigh, taking in the warmth and comfort he seemed to expel by simply being near her. Ahsoka didn't think too hard on that notion, not wanting to get her hopes up. His friendship was more than enough and all that she could ask for.

"Anytime…'soka." And he hugged her back.


	16. Chapter 15: Pangs of Travail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Disney. 
> 
> A/N: Chapter 15 is taking a different approach to the overall story. It is going to clarify a loose end from the beginning of the story (left on purpose of course). Lots of stuff is happening on Mandalore and I believe the series should have delved into this. Since it didn’t here’s kind of my take on the scenario. Lots of conflict ahead.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

** Chapter 15  **

Life is like a whisper, starting with breathy gusto as it rides the current into a finishing hush. There is sharpness in the sound, crisp yet soft to the listening ear. Though one cannot physically touch this intangible sensory, one knows the conviction of faith in their soul. The realness of their experience, woven together by the effects thereof remains planted in the heart. Over time, a whisper's breath dies out as it goes forgotten; its purpose scattered to the winds of abandon. 

Death is also like a whisper as it is short and final. The loss of a loved one is a truly tragic thing, a thorn of mystery and grief. It is jaggedly painful and quick to strike at an unexpected hour. The aftermath of such passing leaves one hollow and aching, pining for many just-once-more moments. The heart is heavy at first, grappling with the inner turmoil of the mind which must surrender to reality. 

Obi-Wan could feel the inward pull of such burdensome struggles, begging him to succumb to the woes of mourning. He could still imagine regal sea blue eyes staring back at him, filled with laughter as if they knew something he did not. The light blonde wisps of silken hair, hanging in neat curls at the ends, bouncing and swaying with every turn of her delicate head. In his ears, the seasoned Jedi could hear the echo of her somber voice and the way she spoke his name with soothing coos. 

He chuckled softly to himself, as sadness threatened to break free from the rims of his scrunched eyelids. The feeling dove into numbness as the image of her passing rose to his forethoughts. Obi-Wan's lips tightened and his fists clenched in their resting place atop his thighs as he pressed through the unbalanced emotions. From the moment she was gored by obsidian saber and the look of utter shock; to the final moments of bittersweet regret mingled with calm satisfaction. 

_ "Remember my dear Obi-Wan," Satine spoke, her voice a tender whisper.  _

_ Obi-Wan held her gently in his arms with one hand tucked under her head and the other behind her back. She felt heavy in his grasp, not an ounce of struggle within her body. Satine's porcelain hand reached toward him caressing his cheek as he nuzzled into the tenderness of her affection. His throat felt swollen with grief as unshed tears stung his eyes. His mind was blank, his sole focus directly stolen by her fading presence. The Duchess' delicate visage fought between lucidity and agony as her breath hitched with dry despair.  _

_ Her struggle was shared with him, the connection between them like a sharp pain in his gut. _

_ "I've loved you always," she declared boldly and unwaveringly. Obi-Wan watched in doleful defeat as her eyes fluttered. "I always will." The flicker of light in her eyes winked out as quickly as her lifeforce receded in the Force. He felt Satine shudder into silence as her head fell to the side, her body lightening ever so slightly. _

Obi-Wan's hands released, letting his fingers stretch out and rest atop his breaches. The legs underneath him went numb long ago as he sat meditating in the dawn of early light. A tickling breeze kissed his cheeks and faded, the blades of grass around him coming to a hushed stillness. Just as quick as the sorrow had come, Obi-Wan cast the burden aside; releasing its bitterness to the Force as it washed away into the waves of resolve. 

The life of a Jedi is not an easy road as there is much asked of one such as himself. Over the years, Obi-Wan had played many roles through the will of the Force. Most often he was a peaceful spectator, an outward perspective peering in on the matters of the galaxy. In others, he would act as impartial justice being cautious to yield to truth. But at times such as this he was something other. Though he could feel the flow of the Force run through him like a sort of ocean dance, or command it to his fingertips by way of thought, Obi-Wan was merely a man. 

He was helpless to save Satine and she had died tragically. As often as these thoughts nagged at him, Obi-Wan understood the events were out of his control. Even the late Duchess herself would have told him so. Knowing her, she would give him a hard and meaningful stare before telling him to not waste his energy. To move forward with purpose, make a meaningful change by choosing peace.

With a long sigh, the Jedi took a deep breath through his nostrils and exhaled from his mouth. Though the times ahead looked grim and uncertain with strife, Obi-Wan would honor her by simply moving forward. Again, he breathed through his nostrils, taking note of a strong and stimulating new smell. It was a bold, nutty aroma intermingled with spices and a hint of sweet syrup.

“If you’re trying to sneak up on a Jedi, then you’ll have to do better than that,” Obi-Wan cheeked. He kept his eyes closed, still taking in his surroundings through the Force. Behind him stood a woman not more than ten feet away. Her spirit radiated a warriors’ pride, unyielding compromise, and an incredibly strong sense of will. Keeping quiet, save for the crunch of gravel and grass underneath her boots, the woman came to stand beside him.

“If I were going to sneak up on a Jedi—Kenobi—then they wouldn’t know it until it was too late,” she chuckled darkly. “You Jedi think too little of us Mandalorians.” With a scoff, she said, “Here. I came to bring you this. It’s not much, but it’s something.”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and turned to face his fiery companion. First, his eyes landed on the metal mug in her hand. Her fingers were scrunched around the rim, steam undulating through the gaps of her precarious hold, as brown liquid threatened to pour out the top. Then, just as his eyes traveled up to meet her gaze, a flicker of sunlight caught her shoulder length hair. Its normally copper-red color lit up with light blonde highlights.

For a split second, she reminded him of her sister before the auriferous rays turned glaring. Her piercing eyes were shaded by straight tresses, staring back at him with hawkish observation. From time to time, Satine would look at him like this with complete scrutiny in her almost calloused squint. It was as if she were examining him like a senator examines a new piece of legislation. She had to memorize what made Obi-Wan himself.

Instead of finding sea-blue orbs, Obi-Wan found emerald eyes staring back. His blue gaze flicked away as a twinge of guilt ran through him swiftly followed by rolling shame. “Thank you, Bo-Katan,” he said with a pensive nod. Obi-Wan instinctively force pulled the drink into his hands, his eyes not meeting hers again.

Bo let go the moment she felt a gentle tug from beneath her fingertips. She watched with curious fascination as the drink slid into the Jedi’s hands, not an ounce of effort or strain on his seemingly thoughtful face. Though she was accustomed to force users, their innate abilities never ceased to amaze her. Perhaps, it was the warrior in her that found them intriguing, almost like a new obstacle to overcome.

Not that she liked their kind. On the contrary, Bo found them to be an infuriating cult fashioned by the clutches of hypocrisy itself. She very much disliked them, but Obi-Wan was…different. Genuine, perhaps. A small frown came to her lips as her train of thinking arrived at this conclusion. Quickly, she focused her attention elsewhere, her emerald eyes settling on the edge of the plain.

Just beyond the edge of dry, golden grass, she could see the desert grit traveling for miles and miles ahead. The terrain around them was no longer shadowed by early dawn as the sun rose on the horizon, its intensifying light making her squint. It was another bleak morning on an ordinary plateau on Concord Dawn, yet today was anything but ordinary.

“Just ‘Bo’,” she said after a moment.

“Just ‘Obi-Wan’,” he offered before taking a tentative sip from the mug. The flavor of the hot beverage reminded him of a Mandalorian pastry—Uj Cake—he had the privilege of sharing with Satine once. Looking down to the mug, he sighed, and felt a new ache creep up. “This is delicious, thank you.”

“What word have you brought from _your_ Council?” Bo asked, with a lilt of disgust in her voice.

Obi-Wan took another sip, placed the mug in his lap, before pursing his lips. His moustache tickled his lip and instinctively he spread his fingers over the hairs, flattening them with a firm glide. Clearing his throat, he said, “They will not aid Mandalore.”

“What?!” she yelled with unkempt frustration.

“In the past, Mandalore has remained an independent people,” Obi-Wan explained coolly, brushing past her outrage. “Refusing the Republic’s intervention has been standard practice for years. The Council—"

“I don’t care about the past!” Bo quipped. “I care about the future of my people!” Kicking the dirt, she walked forward as she punched a fist into the palm of her open hand. “Sundari is practically splitting in half. There are riots in the streets. Mandalorian men, women, and children, are being abducted from our homeworld—never to be heard from again.” Obi-Wan could feel a wave of unbridled rage ripple through the Force from where Bo stood. He frowned and set his caf aside, taking to his feet in silent contemplation.

“Our resources are being plundered by the hour and the economy is crashing. My sister is dead and suddenly the abrupt end of her pacifist reign has ushered in a new era of tyranny.” With a growl, Bo whipped around, unexpectedly facing off eye-to-eye with Obi-Wan. Her glare was filled with hate, offended at the very idea that her hope was for not. “And to top it off,” she said stepping closer. “There’s a traitor sitting in my Sister’s throne.”

Bo jabbed a finger into his chest, twisting with each successive prod.

Obi-Wan fought against her hurtful presses, a grimace on his face as he squinted against the pain. “Don’t just stand there,” she barked, “and tell me the Jedi will do what they do best—fail!” Whatever semblance of calm that he had collected swiftly broke away, his building ire, suddenly ablaze. He could hold his tongue no longer.

“Bo!” he yelled, catching the Mandalorian off guard.

Immediately, her shoulders went rigid as a sneer worked its way onto her condemning expression. “Do not try me,” Obi-Wan warned, “I am here because you asked it of me, and I disobeyed the Council to do so.” He softened, stepping back from her, their gaze still locked. “Give me proof that I can bring back. If you have anything—anything at all—we could persuade them together, but without that proof, the Jedi will not intervene.”

“Proof?! Prime Minister Almec is your proof,” she shouted with conviction.

“He is a citizen of Mandalore. He alone is _not_ enough!” Obi-Wan reasoned, heat still ghosting his face.

Bo-Katan stepped back, her facial expression a mix of nausea, grief, and silent fury. “He’s a traitor—a criminal! He was in jail shortly before coming to power.”

“He. Is not. Enough,” he said, reiterating his previous point. “From the outside looking in, this appears to be an internal affair. One that they believe will sort itself out.”

The rapid crunches of grass and gravel caught the Jedi and his female companion off guard. Together they turned their immediate attention to a young, blonde male trailed by a scarlet Mikkian female. Obi-Wan stole a glance toward Bo, finding that she was doing the same.

“Aunty! Aunty Bo,” the young man yelled. “Is everything alright? We heard yelling.” His voice was breathy and panicked, his blue eyes racing between Kenobi and his Aunt. “I came to see what all the noise was about.” As the Mandalorian came to a halt, his longish hair whipped to the left as he observed the Mikkian beside him. The female Jedi stood by his side with arms crossed in front of her as her cranial tendrils waved like dancing ocean plants.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, glancing back to his Aunt.

“Everything is fine, Korkie,” Bo said with a poor calming effort. Her emerald eyes were still glued to Obi-Wan, but her ire was beginning to wane. “We were just discussing—”

“That’s some ‘discussing’, Aunty. All of camp heard you two,” Korkie explained, standing to the side with a sweeping gesture.

Obi-Wan folded his arms, his hands hidden by his long sleeves as he held onto his forearms. He had felt the multi-eyed gazes of Mandalorian curiosity when their simple conversation broke into a shouting match. Looking up, the seasoned Jedi found Bo’s people—the Nite Owls—standing amongst the tents with blank expressions. Glancing to Bo, he found her embarrassed, a shade of red coloring her clenched cheeks. The warrior of the House of Kryze strode forward with fists at her side, not daring to look back at Obi-Wan.

“Mark my words, Kenobi. I will find proof.” Bo said nothing more and left him in the dust of her wake.

Korkie shook his head, turning to leave. “Our house is already in shambles, Master Kenobi. We don’t need you adding to it.” The young man strode away, no doubt following his Aunt.

Obi-Wan sighed, his eyes closing with defeat.

“That went well, Master Kenobi,” Tiplee chuckled, no humor in the notion. As she stood before him, Obi-Wan noted the pity in her expression.

He nodded, “Doesn’t it always, Master Tiplee?”

The Mikkian’s only reply was a gentle and melodic agreement, in the tongue of her people.

* * *

Evening came on the swift legs of the bygone Mythosaur, casting all the land in dreary darkness as the evening cool swept through like the calm before the storm. A great length of time had past since the camp relocated to the desert canyons, near a small flowing brook. Obi-Wan could hear the running waters dance over the rocks like cascading chimes. Quietly he stoked the fire in front of him with a long, skinny root he scrounged from a withered bush, its leaves having already been scavenged by wildlife.

The flames crackled and snapped, hungrily grazing upon the meager offering of the dead shrub’s remains. Twigs and trunk alike glowed like red-hot charcoal, fraying at the ends as it combusted into flurries of smoke and ash. Its earthen, woody smells wafted into the air in dense clouds before dissipating into the starry sky altogether.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Obi-Wan sighed out his frustrations in an attempt to dislodge the train of thought barreling through his mind. He had not said much since this morning’s dispute as a great sense of foreboding settled atop his shoulders with hefty weight. The Jedi’s gaze became wistful, his mouth pulling into a tight frown, as he desperately sought for internal silence. Yet, his efforts were pointless.

Obi-Wan could not help but piece together some semblance of understanding of what the future would hold for Mandalore and its people. The last time Obi-Wan had set foot on Sundari was when he witnessed the murder of Satine Kryze, his secret love of many years. In the wake of her death, so much horror had wracked the very foundations of her peaceable efforts. What the late Duchess had spent years building, crumbled within hours…within days.

Even the steadfast Bo-Katan, seemed to be at her limits of withstanding the maw of Darth Maul and his apprentice—Savage Opress. Though Obi-Wan could discern the Dark Lords’ collectively misguided wrath from Concord Dawn, another emotion reached out to him through the Force. Unlike the time before, there was fear.

Great and terrible, fear.

Obi-Wan extracted a small communicator from the sleeve of his robes for what seemed like the hundredth time that hour. His thumb ghosted over the sleek design, tempted to ring his counterpart—Master Tiplee—who had long since broke away with Korkie and several Nite Owls. The scouting party had no doubt broke through the perimeter of Sundari’s encircling dome, undetected and undeterred. Just as the Jedi worked up the courage to open a communications channel, the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention.

Caution filled his sapphire eyes as Bo sat opposite from him, sweeping a lock of copper-red hair behind her ear as she took kneeling purchase in the dust. Her gauntleted hand swept over the ground, grabbing up a fist full of dust, and watched it pour out the bottom of her hand. She did this several times, before eyeing Obi-Wan altogether. Patiently he waited, anticipation rising within his chest, though he exuded calm and hospitality.

“No news from my nephew Korkie or your _friend_ ,” she began. “If all is well by morning, then we will rendezvous at the Capital.”

Obi-Wan nodded, taking note of the hawkish scrutiny of Bo’s emerald gaze. The Mandalorian woman was testing him, not out of spite, but to try the bridge of their fragile connection. Though she would never say it, there was a degree of compunction within her impression on the Force.

“This morning, you said that Mandalore’s neutrality was a problem,” Bo said, looking away. “What would it take for the Jedi Council to reconsider?”

“It’s not just the Council you will have to persuade, but also the Galactic Senate,” Obi-Wan answered. He sighed a loud, the sound a mixture of a huff and a hard breath. Obi-Wan was tired, completely drained from the strain of frustration and resentment. Taking the dried root in his hand, the Jedi poked at the charcoal embers, effectively dislodging flakes of cinder. “You and I both know that Prime Minister Almec’s sudden appearance and takeover of governing affairs is a sham. A ploy to prevent the Jedi Council from aiding Mandalore.”

“Agreed,” Bo nodded. “Almec is merely serving as a patsy. We need to take him out right away. We need to crush his reign before any more harm can come to—”

“Not necessarily,” Obi-Wan interjected, stroking his beard with a delicate hand.

The red-head stopped watching the dirt pour out from her clenched fist and diverted her scrutiny toward the bug that was Obi-Wan Kenobi. “Excuse me?” she questioned, dropping her hand.

“Almec is indeed a problem,” he began.

“A terrible one,” Bo answered with a sneer.

“However,” Obi-Wan interjected, his voice laced with warning as it dipped a decibel lower, “he’s the only thing keeping a Civil War from breaking loose.”

She scoffed, “A Civil War is _already_ breaking loose.”

“No,” he dissented. “What Sundari is experiencing is the pangs of travail. War has not yet come, but it will with time. Until then, the whole of Mandalore rests on the fulcrum of balance within the Force. The tide has not turned, only the motion therein gathers to the depths before the next wave.”

“What are you suggesting then, Kenobi?” Bo asked, shifting to her haunches. “We leave Almec in power? Roaming unchecked and unchallenged? I’d no sooner leave it to Maul.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan shot coyly. “Last I checked, you had no problems using him to further your agenda.”

“That was different, and you know it!” she barked.

He merely nodded and shrugged, “Agree to disagree.”

“Besides,” Bo began, brushing past his apathetic remark, “I warned Pre Vizsla. Using that filthy Zabrak was asking for trouble. He thought he could control Maul, but I saw him for what he was really worth.” She sighed and leaned back, placing an elbow on her propped knee. Eventually, she rested her head against the fist of her left hand. “I just wanted a strong Mandalore again. We’ll never have that with an outsider scum bleeding our people dry.”

“I’m afraid you’re quite right,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Unless we can locate Maul and Savage, there is nothing here for the Council or the Senate to act upon.” Bo’s smooth features crinkled into a glower, the creases of her face cast in deep shadow behind the fire’s crackling flame. Nodding, the Mandalorian sat forward, her legs crisscrossing in front of her as she grabbed a knife from her belt. The blade sang a gentle hum, the precipice of its sharp point undiscernible.

“That’ll be nearly impossible,” she huffed before stowing her weapon. “Neither I nor my Nite Owls, have seen his _shebs_ since the day of Almec’s return.”

“Oh? That’s news,” Obi-Wan said, shooting her an inquisitive look. “Nothing stays the hand of a Lord of the Sith. Not unless something much bigger is at play.” The eerie sense of foreboding that had picked at him all day, finally clawed its way through Obi-Wan’s stomach, the end plummeting unnaturally.

“I thought you knew,” she said, her brow raised. “I thought Jedi knew everything.”

Obi-Wan chuckled dryly, “Not everything.”

A wolfish grin worked Bo’s lips, “At last, your kind _is_ flawed.”

“We always were,” he pondered. “It’s the downfall of many Jedi to think we were not so. Arrogance has grown common, even amongst the elect of us.”

“And what of you, Obi-Wan?” Bo teased candidly.

“What of me?” the Jedi asked. “There is not much to tell. I am merely a man.”

Bo’s copper brow raised, unconvinced by his vague answer. “I know my Sister and her tastes. She was never intrigued with nothing. There was always purpose in what held her attention.” With a chuckle, she said, “Keep your secrets, then.”

“No secrets, only truth,” Obi-Wan volleyed, equally frank. “It was merely the will of the Force, that I met Satine. Otherwise, I never could have held her attention.”

Bo’s emerald gaze flicked to the ground, “How did you meet my sister?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it as the communicator stowed in his sleeve began to chirp. The two shared an equally worried glance, before he removed the device. “This is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said, his gaze never leaving Bo’s.

“Mas--- Ke-obi,” a garbled voice called.

“Yes,” he answered quickly.

“Tipl-- to Ke-obi,” the Mikkian tried again.

“Master Tiplee, this is Kenobi. Your connection is breaking up,” he explained.

“Master Ke-obi, a poc-et of th- city is in unr-st. There’s a ri-t in th- market,” Tiplee informed.

Obi-Wan watched as Bo slammed her fist into the dirt, gnashing her teeth in frustration. He looked to the ground knowing full well that skirmishes in a market lead to mass panic. Perhaps the foreboding he felt was not just Maul and Savage, but the people as well. “We’ll be there as soon as possible,” he sighed.

“Hu--y!” she yelled, just as the connection ceased.

* * *

Journeying through Sundari’s boarders was not as hard as Obi-Wan believed it would be. In fact, it turned out to be the easy part. They slipped through as silently as the owls for which Bo’s faction of warriors were named. Making it into the market, however, turned out to be the more difficult problem. For several square miles, men and women dressed in black and red Mandalorian armor blockaded the area surrounding the market. Their weapons were drawn, and some shielded themselves behind small ray shields, casting themselves in faint aqua-blue light. People stood behind their lines, pelting rotten food toward them as they yelled.

Obi-Wan and Bo-Katan stole down several alleys, sticking to the shaded areas looking for a gap in the cordon. To their dismay, there was no way of getting in without drawing attention. Just as they were beginning to lose hope, an explosion in the distance rocked the corridor like an earthen tremor. The buildings around them shook, spraying debris into the air and pelting passerby with chunks of wreckage.

Though Bo instinctively hunkered beneath her ray shield, Obi-Wan lifted a hand calling to the Force. In his mind he could picture them underneath a domed shelter and with his eyes, he watched as debris collected above them. “It’s alright now, Bo,” Obi-Wan assured.

The Mandalorian woman peeked out from behind her protection and stood, noting their position had remained pristine despite the area around them. “That’s useful,” she nodded, as a sort of thanks. “I don’t know what Gar Saxon’s people are up to, but it can’t be good.”

“No, it can’t be,” Obi-Wan nodded, dropping his hand.

The debris above them fell lightly to the ground before the two returned their attention toward the corridor’s exit. Seeing as it was no longer being guarded, they ran through together, breaking past the line of opportunity and into the field of disarray. The streets were filled with chaos as people ran away from an oppressive cloud of dust behind themselves. Carts were overturned, rotten food trodden upon, and several children cried for their parents.

Obi-Wan winced at the emotional ordeal, as if merely witnessing this devastation was lacerating his heart. Though he couldn’t see Bo’s face behind her T-visor, something told him she was just as shocked as he was.

“Mas-er Ke-obi!” Tiplee hailed.

Obi-Wan grabbed his chirping communicator and answered, “Master Tiplee. Where are you?”

“Sou-h side!” she yelled.

Bo broke into a run, leading with an outstretched arm, ready to deploy a defensive tactic. Obi-Wan followed closely behind, running down streets and hurtling over rubble, until they found themselves in a market square. Four of Gar Saxon’s men had cornered Tiplee, Korkie, and two Nite Owls behind an overturned food stand. Each party traded blaster fire, desperation filling their every movement.

To Obi-Wan’s amazement, Bo-Katan kept running forward, no wavering resolve in her entire presence. Firing a wrist rocket at one of Saxon’s sympathizers, the jetpack attached to their back exploded in a rainbow of colors as the Tibanna gas inside combusted with a loud _bang_. Even with the shockwave, Bo was unstoppable as she slid several feet before scissor kicking the next opponent to the floor. With one leg pushing back on their ankles and the other chopping forward behind their knees, she rolled swiftly with the motion. Just as she completed the rotation, toppling the combatant to the ground, Bo extracted the humming knife holstered at her hip. Driving it effortlessly through the enemy’s chest, they remained still; never to move again.

The two remaining Saxon sympathizers took to the air while keeping their backs to one another, twirling in unison as they released their flamethrowers in white-hot incinerating streams. Bo managed to roll out of the way while Korkie and her Owls volleyed alternating shots at their enemy. Obi-Wan pictured in his mind plucking the Mandos out of the sky and made a grabbing motion with his hands while pulling toward himself. Just as his actions met with resistance, a red blur jumped into the air.

Obi-Wan recognized the blur to be Tiplee as she kicked one man in the gut, rotated in a somersault, then kicked the other square in the head. The Mikkian landed on her feet between the men she had downed and extracted the sapphire saber clipped at her hip. Activating its blade with a _snap-hiss_ , she twirled the weapon with a readying flick. 

The Mandos rolled away from the female Jedi, jumping to their feet, as they pincered her from either side. Obi-Wan jumped in just as they began showering Tiplee with blaster fire. Both he and her, deflected the bolts with the effortless twitch of their sabers, redirecting the shots out and away. Together they pushed back their opponents, giving their allies opportunity to take aim. With two loud pops, the Saxon-Mandos crumpled to the ground with smoking wounds billowing from glowing amber holes in their helmets. Obi-Wan looked back and found Korkie and Bo dropping their weapons.

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan nodded solemnly.

Tiplee remained quiet but nodded her thanks all the same.

“There’s not much time,” Korkie said brushing aside the Jedi’s appreciation. “Gar Saxon has requested more troops under Prime Minister Almec’s order. They are to quash the market skirmish and all resistance is to be met with force.”

“How could this happen?” Bo asked bewildered.

“You, as well as I, know that food shortages have increased for the last couple months. Look around, the provisions are rotten,” Korkie stated apprehensively.

Obi-Wan watched as Bo swept up food from a nearby cart. In her hand was a round and oozing fruit, that was beyond mere bruising. Quickly, she cast it aside, tossing it harshly to the ground. The overripe produce exploded upon impact, spraying the ground with pulp and natural juices.

“Unbelievable,” Bo muttered, shaking her gauntlet dry.

“When we got here,” Tiplee began, “the people were rallying peaceably. There were growing concerns that they could not feed themselves nor their families.”

“Yeah,” Korkie agreed, “that was shortly before Almec made a public speech declaring that protestors were violating the law. When the people refused to disband, that’s when Saxon’s men showed up and things got out of control.”

“And the collapsed buildings?” Obi-Wan pondered a loud.

“Collateral,” Korkie surmised.

“For what?” Bo asked. Obi-Wan observed the woman as she stalked toward one of the deceased, hunched forward, and pulled a vibroblade from their chest. With a quick inspection, she turned the knife forward and back before sheathing it at her side. “All he’s managed to do is terrorize the citizens.”

“Exactly,” Obi-Wan muttered, trying to piece the mystery together, “that’s the point—terror. There’s something more going on here. Something we didn’t see before.”

“How do you figure that?” Bo questioned, standing to her feet.

“Call it a hunch,” he sighed.

“Whatever it is, we can figure it out on the way,” Korkie stated while pointing toward a holo-display dangling from a nearby building. The metal mount sparked as the party turned and watched a news station as it panned in on a government building. Prime Minister Almec stood on a balcony with his head held high as he addressed an armored warrior to his right. The individual stood tall, decked in black and red, with a crown of horns atop his helmet.

Obi-Wan began stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“That’s Gar Saxon,” Bo said, brushing past Obi-Wan. “We better get moving, they’ll be here soon.” The Jedi nodded just as he witnessed Prime Minister Almec gesture toward the skies. Moments later, Gar Saxon and his company of men rocketed into the air in maroon streaks. The man in question led the way, leaving the capital building behind without another thought.

“I assume he took over Death Watch after you and your Nite Owls defected?” Obi-Wan asked out loud. Looking away from the screen, the Jedi jogged forward and caught up to his female companion.

“He’s cut from the same cloth as Pre Vizsla,” Bo stated. “Just as dangerous, but with less honor.”

“Was he second in Command before all this went down?” he questioned.

“No, I was.” she answered dryly. “Saxon’s goals often paralleled mine, and being that he’s highly competitive, Gar took advantage of the rift growing between Pre and me. It’s only natural he took over.”

“Opportunistic, I see.” Obi-Wan pieced together. “Neither of you got along I suppose?”

Bo chuckled humorlessly, “There’s a time to play and a time to fight.” Obi-Wan shook his head, slightly amused before he took to silence.

Before they exited the shopping district all together, Obi-Wan felt a gentle tug in the Force. Falling away from Bo’s side, the seasoned Jedi turned around and found the nearest body of a former soldier. The Mandalorian woman seemed to take notice of his departure and stopped in place, surveying his movement inquisitively.

“Obi-Wan?” she called. 

He said nothing as he knelt and searched the deceased. His fingers were splayed, hovering over the cadaver until they ghosted over a belt pouch. A feeling close to suspicion pulled in Obi-Wan’s gut, like he knew something important was hidden there. Whatever it was called to him, begging him to take a further look.

“We need to leave, it’s not safe here,” Bo advised.

Obi-Wan popped open the pouch with a wave of his hand and called forth the object held within. A box no smaller than the palm of his hand floated into his grasp. The Jedi turned it cautiously, forward, and back, up, and down. It was the color of ash wood, painted with purple and gold swirling designs, something he noted that was meant to catch the eye.

“What did you find?” Bo asked, kneeling beside Obi-Wan.

Before he could answer, Korkie yelled for Bo and him, calling them along like dawdling children. Obi-Wan shrugged and put the box into the folds of his robes. He did not yet know what it was for, but something told him it was important. The two rose to their feet and jogged after the others, none the wiser that the fulcrum of balance in the Force had shifted.

The shroud of darkness was already here.


	17. Chapter 16: The Next Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Disney. 
> 
> A/N: Welcome to the feels-trip. Buckle up, Togruta-cup! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 16**

Rex held on tight, embracing the object of his blossoming affections. Ahsoka was warm and soft to the touch, and she smelled faintly of motor oil which he found humorous in afterthought. Her arms encircled his torso, clenching tightly to the fabric of his clothes. He was unsure of who was holding onto who, but he could care less about the details. His head was swimming with a million fuzzy thoughts, completely enraptured by the petite Togruta in his arms.

A secret part of him loved the way she melted into him like she had always belonged there. Even the way her montral had perfectly curved around his neck, so he could rest his cheek and chin against her head, felt oh-so-right. He never wanted to let her go or break the closeness of their intimate contact. He never wanted to lose that connection that brought them together. It was one of the most real and honest things Rex had ever experienced in his short life—a tight hug.

Yet, even deep down, Rex knew they had only stolen a moment in time. A secret happenstance that he would cherish always, and the pangs of regret could never sully. Though whatever _this_ was could not go beyond the doorway of the room, Rex realized he would trade all his livelihood just to hold her to him. The double-sided sensation thrilled him to the core with both hope and fear.

Hope—that there was a possibility of life beyond monotonous war just like Jesse believed.

Fear—that what Cut fought for, Rex would never get the chance to do the same.

Call it selfish, call it greedy even, but Rex wanted it all. The pining. The connection. The affection. The security. The devotion. The support. All of it. Though he knew he should not act upon his feelings, and that romance for a clone was highly improbable, Rex could not help but indulge. If only just a little bit.

"Hey, Rex?" Ahsoka called, squirming beneath his arms.

The clone captain leaned back and peered down to find a pair of cerulean eyes staring up at him. "Hmm?"

"You're squishing me," she chuckled with a smile growing on her mauve colored lips.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized, reluctantly releasing her from his firm grasp. The warmth of her fled away from him like a ghostly impression, replaced by a cooling shiver that ran through him. Just as Rex took a step back, Ahsoka's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. He frowned as she crossed an arm over her stomach and clutched at her elbow. Somehow, she went from being happy to somber and he could not figure out why. 

Was it the hug? Had he made things awkward? Did he overstep a line he did not realize was there? 

"Hey, Rex?" Ahsoka's blue eyes focused on him again, her gaze different and soft.

"Hmm?" he answered.

"Thanks for always being there for me," she answered. The young Jedi began to smile again with genuine appreciation. Rex felt a smile pull at his lips, finding that her elation was increasingly contagious. It was warm like the sun, casting away metaphorical clouds of gloom. "It means...a lot...to me. More than it probably should," Ahsoka said, her cheeks flushing a deep blood orange shade. "Anyways, I've gotta go find that communicator," she said while backing away. 

"'Soka, wait!" Rex reached out for her hand, tugging gently. She was turned toward the door, not daring to meet his gaze, though her calloused hand scrunched his. It was small compared to his own, worn and scarred by combat. "I'm not good at things like this," he began.

"Good at what?" she chuckled nervously.

"Saying what I'm thinking or how I'm feeling," he sighed. Rex scratched at the back of his head out of habit, not sure what to say—much less do. Ahsoka peered over her shoulder, taking him in for a curious moment before her uncertain eyes beheld the hand holding her own. "I'm good at orders—giving and following—and I do it all day long. Give me a weapon, I know how to disassemble and reassemble it in record time. I know how, when, and where to place ordinance. I know the sound of it, and I can hear it even now." Tugging on her hand, he said, " _This_...I don't understand it. I know I shouldn't want it, but I do. I'm tired of fighting against _this_ , trying to pretend that things don't actually exist between us."

"Rex...," Ahsoka began, but trailed off. Her eyes were confused, blinking quickly between him and somewhere else. Her cheeks were a dark shade of blood orange, a stark contrast to the terracotta color of her skin. "What are you saying?" The moment Ahsoka trained her cerulean eyes on him, Rex's heart began to hammer away in his chest. The thumps came quick and hard like he had run a mile.

"I won't ask anything of you," he said, as a subtle heat danced over him. "It's just that I want you to know that all this time apart made me put some things into perspective. Time, being one of them. Things happen too fast, or perhaps they don't happen at all. Life is short—too short for a clone for that matter. I don't know when the 'right' time for any of this is, but I don't want to miss it. I—"

Ahsoka smiled and quickly put a finger to his mouth, “Shh…” As her finger lightly caressed down his lip and chin, the sensation dropping off all together, Rex quieted. His amber brown eyes searched her thoroughly, his heart palpitating uncontrollably as he hung onto her every word. Anticipation made him nervous, but he waited with patience, keeping an open ear and an open heart.

“If you tell me this now,” she smiled, lips quivering with quiet joy, “then I won’t be able to focus on the task ahead.” Closing the distance between them, Ahsoka put her hands on Rex’s shoulders as she lifted onto her tiptoes. Leaning forward, she placed her forehead against his own. Together, they closed their eyes and enjoyed the peace therein. “I know,” she said softly, “I feel the same.”

"You do?" he asked with amazement.

She nodded.

Rex’s heart soared with joy at the news, happiness filling his bones with renewed strength. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to run. He wanted to jump. He wanted to shout. He wanted to sing. Yet, he remained still, choosing to reign in self-control as he reveled in the harmony between them.

She sighed, “I don’t know when the 'right' time is either, but maybe once we resolve the mysteries ahead—the spice, the Mandalorian armaments, and the chip—we can talk more.”

“Agreed,” he nodded. “We’ve waited this long, a little while longer won’t hurt.”

“There’s also other things to consider,” she said, lowering to the flats of her feet. Ahsoka’s hands fell away from Rex’s shoulders, dropping to her sides, fidgeting with the hem of her black, leather vest. “For example, I’m not a Jedi anymore. I won’t be going on missions with you. The times we get to see each other will be few. I know just as well as you do that troopers almost never get time away from the war.”

“I know,” Rex sighed, closing his eyes, "I've thought about these things too."

“It’ll be difficult,” Ahsoka nodded, “but not impossible.”

Rex grinned, “Are you trying to shake me, Commander? ‘Cuz I’ll follow you no matter what.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, the clone playfully shook her side-to-side, causing her montrals to sway with the motion. Ahsoka cracked into an instant grin as mirth filled her countenance.

“I would never do that,” she feigned with mock offense, “because _I_ can run faster.”

Rex laughed hard, pulling her to him in a hug. Ahsoka returned the gesture, nuzzling into his shoulder willingly, seeking the shelter of his comfort.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” he chuckled.

Ahsoka turned her head to look at him, a giddy expression plastered to her face. “How so?” she grinned.

“I thought, perhaps, I was the only one feeling this way.” As Rex said this, he brought a hand up and gently caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. Ahsoka closed her eyes, enjoying the tender affection. A part of Rex was shocked at how easy it was to block out his training, letting go of binding militaristic ideologies for the sake of passion. It was thrilling. Yet, it wasn't half as shocking as when he realized how natural their displays of mutual amorousness came.

Sighing happily, she said, “Nope, not at all. I’ve been like this since the day I bumped into you, filthy with motor oil.”

He chuckled, “All of the past day and a half?”

“No silly,” she laughed.

“Are you talking about the time you and the General were fixing that speeder?” he guessed.

Ahsoka’s mouth dropped open as her cheeks darkened with embarrassment. Playfully smacking his shoulder, she hid her face into his chest and groaned. “Ugh! I can’t believe you remembered that.”

He laughed, “Oh, I remember it alright.”

The Togruta unburied her face from his chest, biting her lip, as a round of laughter sought to break loose.

“I kept walking because I thought Skywalker was gonna kill me,” he chuckled. “Kyrayc—dead!” Rex made a crude motion with his hand, indicating his head being sheared off. “You should’ve seen his face.”

Ahsoka smacked a hand over her mouth and laughed. “Oh no, I can picture it.”

“He never said anything, but if looks could kill…” he trailed off dramatically.

“Well, we don’t want that,” she giggled.

“I sure don’t,” he snickered, shaking his head. With a sigh and a serious expression, he said, “You've always been special to me. Despite the oil you're habitually wearing, or the fact that I’ve wrestled endlessly coming to grips with this, nothing has changed the way I feel about you.”

Ahsoka blushed as her eyes flicked away, happiness still sketched on her face. “I feel the same," she answered softly, "it was hard not to think about you, especially these last couple months apart. Wondering where you were and what you were doing. Wondering if you missed me...I missed you."

Rex brought a hand up to her cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so slightly. "I missed you too. How could I not?"

The Togruta smiled, "Well, I should really get going before people come looking for us."

The clone captain nodded, understanding full well the impending cost of their dawdling, as well as their shared secret. "You're right, but I don't like it," he chuckled. Rex's hands dropped to his sides, still tingling with the sensation of her electrifying touch.

"I know," Ahsoka laughed. Rex watched as she stepped back, the small distance between them growing wider as she retreated to the door of the room. Stopping shy of the threshold, the young Jedi turned her head, looking at him from over her shoulder. She smiled, her eyes sparkling with unspoken bliss. "The distance between us won't be forever, I promise." With her bold declaration, Ahsoka disappeared beyond the doorway, venturing down the stairs and into the workshop below. Though their parting was amicable and nothing less than quixotic, Rex could not shake the feeling that their mutual faith would soon be put to the test.

Just as he took a step toward the door, a streak of orange sheen from under the bed caught his eye. Rex came and knelt by the cot, reaching underneath until the feel of smooth metal cooled his fingers. Grabbing the object, he extracted it, and looked into the palm of his hand. "What's this?" he whispered to himself. In his hands was a small, wrist-sized communicator, the area around the dial glowing orange. The communications feed appeared to be open and a chill ran through Rex. After a moment, the orange light winked out, the channel disconnecting all together.

Rex tightened his grip around the tech, stowing it away in his pants pocket.

* * *

Upon exiting Ahsoka's small room, Rex was brimming with questions and copious concern. Why had the communicator been on? Who was on the other side? Had he simply imagined it? The clone sighed, knowing the answer to his last question, as he closed his eyes. From behind his eyelids, Rex could still see spots in his vision as he pictured the orange beacon. It wasn't something his mind had simply conjured up—no. Someone had been spying on them

But why?

Walking forward, Rex reached into his pocket and began turning the comlink over in his hand. As he headed toward the stairwell, disembodied voices filled the air with cascading overtones of disappointment laced with undertones of apathy. The plethora of emotions dipped and raised like ocean waves, frustration and confusion setting the pace of choppy, conversational currents. Pausing his forward progress, Rex eavesdropped from his secret outpost as he extracted the wrist-sized communicator from his pocket.

"Can I please borrow Gregor's communicator?" Ahsoka asked.

"Why do you need it?" Wolffe questioned.

She sighed with minor annoyance. "I can't seem to find mine," the Togruta answered simply. "I need to contact an old acquaintance about the spice and Mandalorian goods we found in the warehouse. It's very important."

"Seeing as you're no longer a Jedi, I'm not obligated to give it to you," he answered. "I don't have to follow your orders."

"Orders?" she squawked, taken aback. Rex frowned as an ember of defensive chagrin ignited in his gut. What was the Wolfpack commander thinking? "I haven't ordered anything. I was just asking.” Without another thought, the 501st captain padded down the stairs with skilled silence in his cautious steps. “Why are you being like this?"

The moment Rex stepped onto the workshop's garage floor his amber eyes were glued to Wolffe's back. The grey painted plastoid armor he wore had seen better days. It was scratched and beaten, marred with dents and carbon scoring. Just above his shoulder blade was a hole the size of a republic credit, the rim of its blemish long carbonized. Commander Wolffe held his mending shoulder stiffly, not yet used to its recently healed state, before rotating the joint.

“Fine,” Ahsoka sighed, “I’ll leave you to it.” As the Togruta walked away with sagging defeat in her stride, Rex watched her retreat into the office. Once the door had _whooshed_ closed, the captain initiated the call-back command on the comlink in his hand. He was not sure what had come over him, but the rise of protective heat blazed within him.

Everything inside him wanted to be wrong and right all at once. Rex wanted his brother to be free from lowly conduct, but Wolffe was not above suspicion. His stomach flopped as he waited in anticipation. Not but a moment later, an electronic chirping erupted from one of the Commander's belt packs causing the clone to pat at his sides.

Just as Wolffe pulled the tech from his pack and pressed the silencing command, he looked over his shoulder and found Rex. The two locked gazes. The nonplussed expression Wolffe wore fled away, swiftly replaced with cool stoicism. "Rex, I—"

"Tion'narir gar gana'r osik par mirshe?" Rex challenged indignantly. _Do you have dung for brains?_ Searching his one-eyed comrade-in-arms, he took a deep breath. The ire within had begun to spread as disbelief stung at him like a slap to the face. Part of him was shocked, but another part of him had seen it coming. "Tion'vaii cuyir gar ijaat?" _Where is your honor?_

Wolffe growled, "Excuse me? That is out of line, Soldier! Do not question my integrity!"

" _Your_ behavior is out of line!" Rex spat. "Quit rationalizing your conduct as a form of justice."

"Ner?!" Wolffe questioned, placing a hand on his chest. _Mine?!_ Taking a step forward, he glowered as his voice lowered in pitch. "What about you?" Wolffe's eye flicked up and down with discriminatory appraisal, staring coldly like the wolfish eponym bestowed upon him. "Skulking about like some lovesick dog—you're not fooling me!"

Stepping forward, Rex bridged the gap between them. They were close enough to knock heads, but he chose restraint even though everything within him demanded respect. "Ne shab'rud'ni," he stated through gritted teeth. _Don't mess with me._ His voice was just as low and gravelly, filled with anger and offense. "What was the purpose of you spying on us?"

"Confirming my suspicions," Wolffe bit back. "Your negligence could get us killed, or have you forgotten what we're dealing with?"

"I have not," he answered, gnashing his teeth.

"Think about it. She might not be a Jedi now, but what about later? What if she changes her mind?" the Commander questioned, backing off. "If she went back to the Order, then what? We have a conflict of interest on our hands."

"And what if she doesn't?" Rex countered.

"Tion'meh?" Wolffe sighed. _What if?_ "Then what? What will you do? You're in it for the long haul, Rex. The rotations are long with back-to-back deployments. How can you stand to be divided?"

"Why do you hate her so much?" the Captain asked. "She helped save your life once, or have you forgotten?"

"No, I have not forgotten," Wolffe answered. "And I don't hate her. She's one of the Jedi I've come to respect the most."

"Could have fooled me," Rex bit, flippantly.

"What I do hate, however, is the sneaking around," the clone Commander stated. Running a hand through his hair, Wolffe huffed in frustration before turning away. Rex kept his thoughts to himself as he thought back to General Skywalker in the Temple's hanger bay. Images of Senator Amidala sharing a meaningful kiss with the Jedi Knight flooded his mind, and the way she called after him still rung in his ears. Rex could not help but look toward the ground in instant shame.

Was he a hypocrite?

Rex had no intention of lying about his feelings to anyone, but would wanting more than a friendship lead to the same secrecy that the General was always caught up in? Would he be consumed with paranoia like Skywalker often exhibited when Senator Amidala was present or mentioned? Was he the jealous type? Rex liked to think otherwise.

"I won't cover for you," Wolffe said.

"I never asked you to," Rex answered dismissively, before walking away.

"This isn't finished," Wolffe yelled after him.

Rex did not bother to look back as he volleyed, "It is for now."

* * *

Ahsoka was sitting in the office chair with her tablet in hand. She had gone past simply viewing the information on the screen and into staring at nothingness. Her mind was loud, racing with a million thoughts per second. All of which seemed to be jagged and self-deprecating. She felt hurt, numb, and out of place. When had things become so complicated? The Togruta slunk back into the fraying upholstery, wishing she could melt into the furniture.

The time she had spent away from the Jedi Order had done much good, but there were still more challenges ahead she had yet to discover. Wolffe’s uncooperative demeanor was one of them. Ahsoka was unused to such immovability. She had often won the hearts of her comrade clones, their unyielding loyalty sprouting from the fruit of her goodness. Yet, even with all her veteran experience, she was an outsider. The hurt of disconnection—separation—was almost brand new again, bringing an old wound to the surface.

Setting the data pad onto the desk, Ahsoka closed her eyes and put her head in her hands. The weight of her montrals shifted forward, hanging freely from her shoulders. She took a moment to simply breathe, inhaling peace and exhaling stress. But the longer she attempted to reign in the serenity, the more she felt lost and afraid of her own failures.

"What am I doing?" she whispered to herself.

Just then, the door to the office _swished_ open and closed. Ahsoka looked up and found Rex watching her from the doorway with stoic calmness upon his face. The clone’s signature in the Force, however, was swathed with anxiety and jumbled in disarray. Standing to her feet, the Togruta met him at the door, and drew her arms around him. He reciprocated for a small time, but eventually parted to show her the object in his hand.

"Found this," he said, a small smile pulling at his lips. In his grasp was a small, wrist-sized communicator. Though it was modest in dimension, the gadget brought back many great memories; good and bad. Ahsoka smiled and took his offering into her hands before walking to the desk absentmindedly.

Her eyes were glued to the tiny device as she pictured in her mind the maroon vambrace and tunic she once wore as a Jedi Apprentice. Ahsoka then brought a hand up to her head, where her white-blue montrals met seamlessly with terracotta skin. The sensation of a soft, ordinary black leather headdress glided smoothly under her fingertips. The Akul teeth she had once worn, in addition to her outfit, were long gone—sold for the sake for her livelihood. She frowned, suddenly disappointed with her actions.

Though Rex watched her curiously, observing her actions with great attention, Ahsoka pressed onward as if nothing was amiss.

"Where was this?" she asked.

"Under your bed," he answered.

"I'm glad you found it," she smiled, pushing recent events far from her forethought. As she did, a great peace came upon her and Ahsoka's mind grew quiet. In the place of disorienting celerity, her thoughts now dwelled in graceful contemplation. "Well, here goes nothing." After pressing a series of buttons, she pressed the dial on the comlink and watched as the encompassing orange ring began to blink.

Ahsoka held her breath, oblivious to the fact that she waited with fragile hope. As she took leaning purchase against the desk, Rex walked over and did the same. He took up the space to her right, arms crossed against his chest, and silence on his lips. The communication's feed suddenly chirped to life, the comlink emblazoned in tangerine light, signaling the channel's establishment.

"This is Korkie Kryze," a disembodied voice spoke boldly. "To whom am I speaking with?"

"This is Ahsoka Tano," she replied, "you may not remember—"

"Ahsoka?!" Korkie questioned, nonplussed. "Is that really you? It's been ages!"

The Togruta laughed gently, "It has indeed."

For a quick moment the channel crackled, whatever noise on the other side warbling with feedback. "I don't have long to chat," he stated, "things are getting heated where I'm at. What do you need?"

"Right!" she answered quickly. "I discovered some crates here on Coruscant—connected to the Black Sun. They were filled with smuggled spice and Mandalorian artifacts—weapons and armor. Do you know anything about this?"

"Manda—" the link dropped out for a moment before the sounds of alternating blaster fire rounded off. "Do you have any of these chests in your possession?"

"No, I—"

"Ahsoka! Please!" Korkie pleaded, "if you can retrieve one, then it might be the key to getting the Jedi to approve a siege on Mandalore."

"A siege? Why would you want that?" she asked, looking to Rex. He and she locked worried gazes as their concerns continued to stack up. Ahsoka chewed on her lower lip as her cerulean eyes flicked away, focusing to a spot on the floor. "Does this have to do with your Aunt?"

"Yes," he yelled over the sounds of a distant skirmish. "She was murdered when Darth Maul and Death Watch took over Sundari. You're a Jedi! Don't you know anything about this?"

"No, I don't. I'm no longer with the Order," she sighed morosely.

"Then perhaps we can be of use to one another. Find and retrieve one of those chests. Then we'll talk." Korkie suddenly yelled, but Ahsoka couldn't tell if it was out of pain or surprise. "Korkie out!" The channel died just as the orange circle on the comlink went dark, leaving the two in ear-buzzing silence.

"Now what?" Rex asked.

Ahsoka sighed, "I guess we've gotta go back to the warehouse."

* * *

Korkie's request had instantly become a top priority on their list of to-do's. Without the slightest hesitation, they left Corbin's Repair shop in search of the evidence. The four piled into a single airspeeder and headed down the skyway. The cool, damp air current whipped past them as they hurtled down empty alleyway after empty alleyway. They had stuck to lesser used routes to avoid unnecessary attention. Seeing as the trio of clones were easily conspicuous to Level 1313 denizens, it was best to play it safe.

In the driver's seat sat Wolffe, and next to him in the front passenger seat, sat Gregor. The cracked commando would rattle off nonsensical directions, from time-to-time, mixed with random pieces of war stories in-between. While he prattled away, Ahsoka sat in the back, checking her vibroblades for the umpteenth time that drive. As she focused her gaze on the undefined tip of her blades, she listened to their distinct hum singing in her ears. Pleased to find that her weapons were in order, she quickly sheathed them in the holsters attached to either thigh.

Ahsoka took a moment to look around, examining the corridor with brief scrutiny.

The whine of the speeder's engine ricocheted off the walls of old buildings surrounding them, while the hood of her vest flapped wildly in the wind. To her right, sat Rex with his arms crossed and a stoic expression plastered to his face. He had been this way since Wolffe, and Gregor decided to come along on the trip. She was not sure what the problem was, but a gut feeling told her that something was amiss between the brothers. Maybe not with Gregor per say, but perhaps with Rex and Wolffe.

She said nothing, resigned to merely observing and waiting.

The moment they arrived outside the warehouse Rex gave her hand a quick, tight squeeze before jumping over the side of the vehicle. Ahsoka smiled and followed suit. Splitting up into pairs, Ahsoka and Rex took the front while Wolffe and Gregor took the rear. They entered the storehouse and searched the interior, meeting up in the middle without a single thing in sight.

The place was empty.

Somebody had gotten there before they could and cleaned the place out.

Ahsoka hung her head in defeat, she should have known that it would not be so easy.


	18. Chapter 17: Phantom Visions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Disney. 
> 
> A/N: I have been working on this Chapter since I last posted and it's been a rollercoaster. Not because I'm out of ideas, but because I have a lot rolling around in my head. A lot of this was write and rewrite; spitball and spitball some more; and swapping the placement of certain ideas. @___@ I finally got to a place where I am not only satisfied with what I wrote, but I'm extremely excited to share it with you all. 
> 
> Just an FYI, the Obi-Wan/Bo-Katan duo won't be around for much longer. Since this is gearing up for the Siege, Obi-Wan for obvious reasons must go away because his roll is elsewhere. Together, they were important to furthering the plot and drama. Giving you, the reader, a glimpse into the things that plagued Obi-Wan before the fall of Anakin and how the fight for Mandalore was doomed to fail. If you like their interactions together enough to ask for a side story let me know in the comments. I might be willing to write a piece. ;)
> 
> Can't wait to start working on the next chapter, it'll be a bumpy ride I'm sure. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Chapter 17**

How does one shape a destiny they cannot see? Is it wielded like a saber which melts and separates all it touches? Or, perhaps, it is like the flow of water, whose overwhelming torrent carves out the path? Was everything before and after this moment predestined—predetermined—by the will of the Force?

Obi-Wan did not know.

As his mind navigated the frenzy of erratic thought life, fighting for communion with the Force, he felt separated and overwhelmed. But he pressed on, not trusting the feelings of his immediate situation. Sleep was no longer an option, though his eyes were heavy. Today was a fight for peace; a slog for seeking truth. Something all around him was amiss.

Somehow, a great shadow had fallen on them long ago under a guise he could not see.

Undoubtedly, the Jedi Master had indeed uncovered something. And it was _there_ in his hands. Obi-Wan could feel the smoothness of the box beneath his fingertips and picture the swirling designs behind his eyelids. He could even sense the darkness—the spice—within. What was its purpose in the grand scheme of things? The more he chased after the answer, the more the answer flitted away like a taunt.

" _Come find me_ ," it would whisper.

Obi-Wan fought to keep his eyes shut, and his thoughts steady. " _I am one with the Force_ ," he reminded himself. The seasoned Jedi pictured a doorway in his mind, concentrating on his thoughts flooding out into the hallway beyond, sealing him off from their distracting nature. " _I am one with the Force_ ," he reminded himself again. All around him, Obi-Wan imagined being enveloped in a room of light. There were no boundaries, only endless expanse. Gentle warmth flowing with power brushed past him like phantom touches, caressing him with a sense of peace. Far off voices greeted his ears. Tickling his mind. Bringing back old memories long lost to the depths of his subconscious.

There was a lesson for him to learn.

_All eyes were concentrated on the center of the room where a single Jedi Master stood, his presence totally and completely captivating. His shoulder length hair was ash brown and greying with wisdom. His beard and moustache were short and well groomed. On his shoulders hung the mantle of his kind; a long, dark brown cloak. Upon his person, he was clothed in simple, tan garments which he wore like a banner of his confidence._

_Qui-Gon Jinn was his name._

_"He was trained in the Jedi arts. My only conclusion can be that it was a Sith Lord," the veteran Jedi spoke. His voice was a low, baritone, grumbly with sagely thoughtfulness. His blue eyes were soft, yet fierce. Their piercing gaze always held a twinkle of knowledge, like he held the secrets of the Force._

_Members of the Council traded looks between themselves, concern growing within their numbers—their whispers. Ki-Adi-Mundi was the first to speak, his eyes creased with perplexity. "Impossible," he deflected while looking to Master Yoda for answers. "The Sith have been extinct for a millennium." Unwanted truth is always divisive, cutting through reality like the blade of a knife. The uncertainty of its striking sharpness is always painful, but not as agonizing until its full length is known._

_Yoda frowned, his mouth scrunching with more creases._

_"I...do not believe the Sith could have returned without us knowing," Mace Windu cut in. His dark and calloused hands were held together, his long fingers forming a thoughtful steeple. His normally hard stare and expression was soft as his brows rose apprehensively. Deep brown eyes met with Yoda's pensive gaze, searching for a silent confirmation._

_Yoda nodded, solemnly, his long, pointed ears lifting ever so slightly. Turning away from his esteemed peer, he said, "Ah. Hard to see, the dark side is." The small Master, wiser and older than all the others, knew better than to assume the unlikely was out of reach. The dark side was forever crafty, and always secretive._

_"We will use all our resources to unravel this mystery," Mace resumed with bold certainty. "We will discover the identity of your attacker. May the Force be with you."_

_Qui-Gon bowed, his focus still intently placed upon Yoda._

"Obi—" a familiar voice called. They sounded almost like Satine. "Obi-Wan." The Jedi in question could feel his focus slipping away, like a string being pulled from his hands. Obi-Wan tried to grab for it, not wanting to lose the answers he was so desperately close to understanding. Just as an elbow collided into his ribs, Obi-Wan's eyes snapped open, bringing him painfully back into the present. "We're here," she said.

Looking to his right, Obi-Wan focused on a pair of emerald pools. The hooded gaze looking back at him, normally a façade of spitfire bravery, was full of question and doubt. They seemed to soften, ever so slightly. He could feel the frown on his lips pull away, slackening off into stoic reserve. Obi-Wan watched as the redhead beside him tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, before looking away dismissively.

Bo quietly stood to her feet, resting her helmet between arm and hip, and walked down the cargo ramp. Light poured past her petite frame, causing Obi-Wan to put a shielding hand up against the harsh rays. Not wanting to be left behind, the Jedi stowed the spice box into the folds of his robes and stood to his feet.

By the time he reached the end of the plank, Obi-Wan could feel the sweltering heat of a Concordian morning. The desert was warmer than yesterday, causing trickles of sweat to travel down his back. Bo was already into the thick of camp, weaving around the tents. Trailing after her, Obi-Wan watched as she slipped through the flaps of a large tent—about the size of four small ones combined—that eclipsed all others.

He too entered in.

Inside the tent, there were three long tables perpendicular to the entrance. The outer lying benches were devoid of occupants save the center, which was packed with several Owls, Korkie, and Master Tiplee. Each of them talked amongst themselves, their chatter filling the tent with a rainbow of pleasantries. A brunette woman dressed in Owl attire, Obi-Wan did not know, went around setting the table.

Korkie and Tiplee were to the left of Bo, who stood at the end of the table, hunched over a holo-display. Her copper hair hung forward, washed in the glow of blue light. Obi-Wan had barely laid eyes on her, before she looked up, and motioned him over. He nodded and came to her side, just as the contents of the projection died out. Bo stood tall, shoulders straight, as she turned her attention to him. Her emerald eyes seemed to search him for a moment, something behind them working to find the words to speak.

"Korkie received intel from a source while in the market square in Sundari," she began. "According to our informant, they found caches of Spice and Mandalorian armaments tucked away in a supply house on Coruscant. The stockpile bore the mark of the 'Black Sun'."

Obi-Wan's brows furrowed with contemplation as his stare grew distant. Crossing his arms, the Jedi began stroking his beard. Spice. Weaponry. The Black Sun. What did these things have in common? As Obi-Wan thought hard, a mental image of yellow eyes rimmed with crimson came to his forethoughts.

What was Maul planning?

Absentmindedly, he slipped a hand into the folds of his robe and felt the spice box.

“How did Maul take over Mandalore in the first place?” Obi-Wan inquired. “I am well acquainted with his overall modus operandi, but this is information I have no knowledge of. He used Satine as leverage to seek me out and have me come here. The rest is an enigma to me.”

"Before Death Watch took over Sundari," Bo started, "we—along with Maul—were conspiring with several factions of gangsters. The Pykes and the Black Sun—"

"Excuse me?" Obi-Wan interjected.

"Though Maul was head of operations for all parties included, Pre and I had other plans. Our insurgency," Bo appeared unfazed and pressed on, "was engineered to look like incompetence on my sister's part. While the gangsters appeared to take over the city with hostile force, Death Watch would round up the criminals, further exacerbating Mandalore's doubt against their Duchess." For a split second, Obi-Wan watched as Bo gave a sly grin. She seemed to appreciate the clever tactic.

The outrage deep within himself was instantly ignited. Pressurized by shock and bitterness, the heat of fury was set ablaze on both neck and cheek. Bo was no longer observing him, not aware of the visible ire within him fraying his restraint. Death Watch had unwittingly forfeited Satine's life. She was a martyr, murdered by the age-old enmity Darth Maul harbored toward him. The Sith Lord's revenge was venom—toxic and poisonous to those he struck.

"Maul believed he would be ruler," she scoffed, "but Pre had lied from the start. We were only using him. With Maul and his...apprentice...detained within our prison, Pre was able to stand in the spotlight as our new regent to Mandalore." Emerald eyes glittered with revelry, their gaze growing distant as they pictured a reality of revolution that never saw fruit. "Our people would no longer be a pacifist nation, but a body of warriors; restoring the old ways."

She held that joy for a moment more before it fell away into a doleful frown. "But things...did not go according to plan," she sighed. "Maul challenged Pre to a duel and he was bested." Unconsciously, Bo put a hand to her neck, massaging the area against the vision in her mind's eye. "He was decapitated. That's when things—"

"Bo," Obi-Wan said coolly, "get to the _point_."

Something in his voice caught the woman's attention, and she quickly scrutinized him with an owlish squint. Her expression, slightly taken aback at first, snapped into a poker face. Obi-Wan did not dare avert his glaring eyes. The tent had quieted as all conversation and the clanking of silverware came to an awkward halt. Everyone's attention focused on the void of tension that was Bo and him. It seemed to be a frequently recurring pattern between them.

They were like the solar flares of a blazing sun, always dancing and exploding around the epicenter of a greater source.

"My _point_ ," she enunciated, "is that if we can draw the connection between Maul, the gangs, and Mandalore, then we will have the proof the Council needs."

"Are you saying we're going to Coruscant to _get_ this proof?" Obi-Wan questioned.

"No," Bo answered, not batting an eye. "Our informant will do that while _we_ visit Ord Mantell."

"Why would _we_ do that? What's on Ord Mantell?" he asked.

"That's the last known location my network of Owls tracked Maul to," she answered. "We will leave in one hour."

"Fine," he spat. Obi-Wan said nothing more as he spun on his heels, making a swift beeline to the exit.

"Obi-Wan," Bo called. "Kenobi!!!"

The Jedi's exodus from the meeting tent was expeditious and determined. His footsteps were harsh _clomps_ , bordering indignant, as he tread the ground in a fast walk. More than anything, Obi-Wan wished the forsaken desert floor would leech the anger and the hurt from him. The information was like the blow of a dagger, sharp and biting. The pain of loss was leaking through yet again.

"Kenobi!" Bo yelled again. He could hear the crunch of her boots in the gritty dust, coming closer and closer to him. He should have known that she would come after him, even if it was to bicker. "Kenobi!" He did not bother to acknowledge her. "Wayii!" she said under her breath. _Good grief!_ Bo jogged ahead of him and turned abruptly, effectively cutting him off from his path to seclusion. Putting her arms out, she shoved him back, and leaned forward with her chest puffed out.

“Hut’uun!” she yelled. _Coward!_ "Quit acting like a wounded animal and face me like a man!"

"I am no coward. You of all people have no right to call me that,” Obi-Wan attested, stepping forward. Meeting her eye-to-eye, he said, “Death Watch, and yourself included, practically signed Satine’s death warrant! Who’s the real coward?"

"Ne’johaa!" she yelled. _Shut up!_ "I know!"

"How could you?" he asked as tears stung his eyes.

"I never wanted any of that to happen," she said defensively.

Putting the back of her hand up to her mouth, Bo choked back a sob that had threatened to break loose. Obi-Wan watched in silent shock as he fully realized the bite of his words and how deep they had cut. The warrior of the House of Kryze quieted, silently filtering through the emotions at war on her unhinged expression. The Jedi Master made a long sigh while raking a hand through his hair. As the buzzing of adrenaline through his system sloped off, Obi-Wan was unsure if he should apologize or stay silent.

Though Bo would never admit that he had wounded her, beneath the surface of her façade, there was something more.

A silent sorrow.

A self-loathing torment.

"I never planned for any of it to happen," Bo said, her eyes glistening. Whatever she had concluded internally caused a shield of steely stoicism to finally surface. Obi-Wan watched as the Mandalorian woman fixed the chink in her armor, fastening it in place with faux resolve. As she focused on him, meeting his blue-eyed gaze with steely sincerity, her jaw clamped shut. The muscles therein began to dance as she ground her teeth. "You don't need to remind me of my mistakes. I'm already paying for them!"

Obi-Wan's appearance softened. "That _we_ are.”

* * *

Obi-Wan watched mindlessly as ghostly streaks of starlight shot past the viewport, their tendrils almost endless. Beyond the light was a dark expanse of void that was deep, cold, and ancient. A chill ran through the Jedi Master, goosebumps dotting his skin, as he held himself. Since their departure from Concord Dawn, and its oppressively dry heat he had barely uttered a word. He was tapped emotionally like someone had flipped a switch.

The quietness he was experiencing was anything but peaceful.

He listened to the continuous buzzing of the ship and its various groans, taking notice in its subtle shifts and the way it settled. Not more than an hour ago, their _Kom'rk_ class transport entered Mid Rim territory. Their trajectory was set for the Bright Jewel system, named after the blue gas giant at its center. Among its vast network of planets, Ord Mantell and its trio of moons lied in wait. Its celestial body was part of a famous smuggling trade route that hosted the roughest of peoples. Crime was more than prevalent; it was their way of life. It was a place governed by lawlessness and where justice had long turned into myth. Poverty was also rampant, a comorbid trait onset by the disease of malfeasance.

Obi-Wan frowned.

He thought of all the possibilities that awaited him and the others on a world left destitute by vile gangs and drug laundering. What would they see? What would they learn? He did not have much experience with the Black Sun, but something told him he did not want to. Suddenly the box in the folds of his robes felt heavy and he withdrew it carefully. His eyes barely studied its surface before the _tip-taps_ of a pair of boots came from the distance. Turning to his right, Obi-Wan found a scarlet Mikkian woman walking toward him. Her expression was cautious as she looked at him.

"Is it okay to talk with you?" she asked softly. "I do not mean to disturb the peace."

"That's quite alright Master Tiplee," he said, waving her to him.

She nodded with a small smile and drew alongside him. He observed her for a moment and resumed his mindless gaze upon the universe, separated by a thick cut of transparisteel.

"Thank you for asking me along on this journey," Tiplee said, slightly nodding her head to the side. "It has done me some good."

"Oh? How do you mean?" Obi-Wan questioned, eyebrows raised.

"I know your motive was to show me a different perspective—a higher one—at that," she began. "That selflessly helping others, fills the void of pain within ourselves." Tiplee scoffed, the sound almost melodic. "Forgive me. My answer sounds quite mystical or aloof...maybe...though I do not mean it so."

Obi-Wan threw a quick glance to the Mikkian woman, taking extra notice of the way her cranial tendrils waved about like dancing ribbons in the wind.

"Since my sister's death, I have found it hard to fight against the anger and the hurt." Leaving his side, Tiplee intertwined her hands behind her back and began to pace. Obi-Wan watched the image of her reflection in the transparisteel, remaining quiet as he listened to her words. "Just when I think I'm good again and nothing can hurt me, it all comes rushing in afresh."

Obi-Wan sighed. His eyes flicked away from the viewport, choosing an abstract spot on the ship's hull to vaguely study. He knew exactly what she meant.

"What you two shared was a unique bond of sisterhood in the Force. Two different ends of the same strand. It is something I do not fully understand, myself." Obi-Wan turned to face his peer and watched as she halted her pacing. The scarlet woman was faced away from him, reflecting thoughtfully on the words that he spoke. Cautiously, he continued, his voice solemn and thoughtful. "I've only ever heard stories about what it's like for force-sensitives with strong bonds. Some reports have mentioned that even across the galaxy, a Jedi can sense the moment of their loved one’s death."

"One source," he said meekly, "even equated it to the severing of a limb."

For a moment, Obi-Wan’s thoughts shifted to Satine and his stomach flopped. He remembered the way their spirits harmonized with the Force, weaving a connection between them like three strands of a woven cord. Obi-Wan still felt their separation, the sensation unforgettable, like someone had cut the string of fate.

"It's true," Tiplee nodded. "I feel like a part of me is missing. I don't feel right."

"It's only natural that it would affect you, above all, differently," Obi-Wan surmised while glossing over his personal reverie.

"The harmony I once shared with my Sister can never be forgotten," she said, noting the bittersweet reality. "I think that was why I was so hurt by the anger. I was afraid of forgetting her...," Tiplee trailed off. The calmness in her voice was betrayed by the intonation of sudden frustration. Looking quickly to Obi-Wan, Tiplee's fanned cranial tendrils began to flick with agitation. "It feels like only yesterday, we were preparing side-by-side for the mission on Ringo Vinda. I can still picture and hear the synchronous marching of Clones and their noisome plastoid. I remember the smell of burned ozone and the way my gut wrenched."

Quickly, she added, "I can still hear that blasted Clone rambling 'Good Soldiers follow orders'."

"I felt—somewhat—similarly when my Master was killed," he began, though he flinched at her prejudiced words. "I was...not as prepared...as I had hoped. No one is, I don't think."

Tiplee's deep blue eyes dulled as a frown pulled at the corner of her lips. "Master Qui-Gon, is still missed, I sense."

"Yes, but in time the pain went away," Obi-Wan nodded. "The sting of death is not fresh like it once was and like all things it passed away into memory." Walking forward, the seasoned Jedi reached out toward his partner—his friend—and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Not everything in life makes sense. Though you and I are honored to flow in the Force, guided by its still small voice, we are just like everyone else. We too have emotions and faults we must bring under control. We must strive to find the balance between right and wrong; light and dark."

"I’m not sure I know what's right anymore. What's the point of all this loss? Why are we fighting so hard when we were meant to be peacekeepers?" she asked, her eyes beginning to glisten. "More than ever," Tiplee crooned woefully," I'm desperate to know if there's an end to all this madness."

Obi-Wan sighed, "I don't know if becoming leaders in an army was the _right_ thing to do, but what I do know is this: for the hope of lasting peace, there are some things worth fighting for. Our goal is to fight when necessary to protect the innocent, the ones who cannot defend themselves. We also strive to protect and help the others who stand against the darkness in their own way. _This_ is the right thing to do. Never before have the Jedi been more needed in the galaxy."

Tiplee sighed, "What you have spoken is true, but why is it so hard?"

"If doing the right thing was always _easy_ , then more people would be apt to do it," Obi-Wan said, his hand falling to his side. "As Jedi, we have made the choice to live a hard life, but that does not mean it is not worth doing."

"And that is why I plan to lea—" Tiplee quieted as a pair of _tip-tapping_ boots caught her attention.

Obi-Wan turned his attention down the meager corridor to observe their newest arrival and found Bo traversing the hallway with determined strides. Atop her normal regalia—bodysuit fitted with a Mandalorian iron called “beskar”—she wore an ebony poncho that draped to her knees. The material appeared durable and thick as it billowed behind her, the blue trim of the garment catching the incandescent light as it danced in and out of view. Bo's hands were held in front of herself, gripping tightly to a helmet that was painted in the colors of sky and cloud. As she walked forward, Obi-Wan noticed the marking above her T-visor looked like the glare of a Convor...or so he guessed.

Her expression would have been almost unreadable to most beings, except that he had come to recognize her owlish gaze for what it was. She had words to say and things to settle. Obi-Wan was unsure that he was ready to listen, but regardless of his desires, it was best to smooth things over now rather than later. They were, after all, partners on an active mission. Bo's support—as well as his—were integral to their mutual success. Personal feelings aside, they could not afford to let their individual agendas get in the way.

"Excuse me," Tiplee bowed before walking away.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Bo said before glancing over her shoulder for a quick moment.

He shook his head, "Not at all."

"Good," she nodded. "We're about to descend into Ord Mantell's atmosphere. Just thought you should know."

"Thank you," he nodded back.

The air between them suddenly turned awkward and stale. For a moment, they stared at each other. Not with animosity, but in the way that broken people coming to terms with hard truths often do. There was no shouting. There were no fiery exchanges of vitriol. Just two people working to protect themselves from a wound that had not yet healed.

"We have to focus on finding Maul and helping Mandalore," Bo finally began, "Not Satine. Just the mission."

"Agreed," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Just as Bo brought her helmet up above her shoulders, a smirk came to her lips. Her emerald eyes looked him up and down, the action resembling a moving turbolift. "And work on being less distracting," she poked sardonically, "Jedi aren't exactly welcome around here." After securing the headgear to herself, Bo shrugged past him, and yelled, "Find Korkie, he's got something more suitable for you to wear.”

Obi-Wan looked down his front while pulling at the hem of his robes with both hands. A frown came to his lips and he huffed. Trudging down the opposite direction, the Jedi went in search of his new attire.

* * *

The moment they docked in Ord Mantell City they were greeted by a rough looking Rodian accompanied by a couple of wobbly Pit-droids. Obi-Wan sat on an unmarked crate and watched as Bo-Katan strode down the gangplank with the confidence of a leader. If it were not for that soldierly swagger she so naturally carried, Bo would have looked regal.

For a few minutes, Obi-Wan quietly observed the Mandalorian woman in her element. Bo haggled with the Bay Chief for a short time before patting the WESTAR-35 blaster pistol attached to her hip. Obi-Wan chuckled underneath the helmet he wore, his amusement unheard by the outside world. Anakin had a phrase that came to mind, one that Bo was acting out splendidly—“aggressive negotiations”.

As the beskar-disguised Jedi sighed, his thoughts turned to his former Padawan. It had been a couple days since he had heard from Anakin. Just as he thought to send a communication to his comrade—his brother—reality began to bend and shift around him as he felt the Force coalesce within himself.

The vision came on the tide of rolling fog, the voices of old memory fading in and out of focus. At first, they were whispered staccatos, but then they soon crested into almost palpable crescendos. Obi-Wan remained still on the crate and concentrated his breathing as he closed his eyes. After breathing deep, he would exhale a long breath, repeating the process until his thoughts embraced the apparition of ghosts-past.

_An image of piercing, yellow eyes rimmed with scarlet rage came into the lens of his scrutiny. Under the shroud of darkness, a mystery with a crown of horns was unveiled, as an obsidian hood was pulled away. Before him stood a male Zabrak, his skin red like blood and his body tattooed with onyx ink. This was no ordinary man, he completely eclipsed the means of a mere mercenary or an assassin._

_He was Darth Maul._

Obi-Wan's face tightened with uncertainty as he remembered the zeal of his youth. He could picture his younger self standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his Master, determined to bring about the crushing defeat of their enemy. How could they not? They had done it so many times before, what made this trial any different?

The clashing sound of rebounding sabers and their unmistakable _snap-hiss_ thundered in his ears like a symphony of combat. Suddenly, Obi-Wan was no longer on Ord Mantell, but on the planet of Naboo in the capital of Theed a long time ago. 

_Within the belly of royal palace, down a hall and into the expansive network of Theed’s power generator complex, a convergence in the Force collided. Where the light met the dark, hungry sabers crackled and sparked. A single blade of emerald rivaled against crimson saberstaff like indomitable forces of nature. Snap-hiss! Crack! They were locked in a combat of wills, swinging for life, swinging for death._

_Master Qui-Gon Jinn devoted his defensive and offensive techniques against the Zabrak-Sith before him. The veteran Jedi wrestled for dominance, the strenuous power struggle requiring him to work to obtain and maintain the footholds he so easily gained and lost. His attempts came in the form of slashes and jabs; blocks and strikes coupled with pure strategy._

_Snap-hiss! Crack!_

_Qui-Gon focused his efforts on driving Darth Maul down the causeway, traversing the length of the platform quickly and efficiently. With every step forward, the Sith-Apprentice would take every step back. His plan was simple: narrow the playing field. The Zabrak fought with the strength of three Force-users and without Obi-Wan by his side, it was more like two-against-one._

_Several floors below, Obi-Wan watched as his Master and enemy scrambled down a corridor and out of sight. Crouching low, the young Jedi’s muscles clenched tightly before shooting upward like volleyed artillery. He could feel the cool wind whipping past his face as he arched up and over the bridge. Obi-Wan did not remember the moment his feet touched the ground or even when he took off running. He could only recall the desperation that hammered in his chest, threatening to burst through as he practically flew across the complex to rejoin his master’s side._

_Master and Apprentice were leagues—and battlefields—apart._

_By the time Obi-Wan reached the end of the passage, beads of sweat poured down his face. Fear shot down his spine like a jolt of electricity. Though his palms were sweaty, his feet achy, and his joints smarting; the Padawan took his first several steps down the corridor of transformation. The high-rise of the foyer erupted in scarlet light only moments before the end of Qui-Gon was fully realized._

_The vision faded into darkness before revealing the expansive Council Chamber. The room was swathed in the deep, warm sherbet of Coruscant’s evening dusk. Obi-Wan stood near a wide arching window, with Mace Windu standing before him. Some feet away, Master Yoda sat in a chair, his countenance clearly troubled._

_They all were._

_“Do you believe what Count Dooku said, about Sidious controlling the senate? It doesn’t feel right,” Obi-Wan asked. His thoughts went back to Geonosis, to the duel that cost Anakin his arm and Obi-Wan his peace. They would have died had it not been for Master Yoda’s intervention. A rare sight it was to behold, to witness the duel of a Master [Yoda] and former Apprentice [Dooku]._

_But where was his new Sith Master?_

_“Joined the dark side Dooku has,” Yoda stated, his voice low and gravelly. Pointing toward his companions, he continued, “Lies. Deceit. Creating mistrust are his ways now.” The legendary Master’s long, green pointed ears twitched in response to the proclamation as a frown set on his wrinkly lips._

_“Nevertheless, I feel we should keep a closer eye on the senate,” Mace Windu confirmed wisely._

_“I agree,” Yoda stated._

The proceeding conversation died out to a whisper as the Council Chamber faded out of sight. Obi-Wan scrunched his eyes, trying to focus his hearing with the Force. His grasp was slipping, but he was starting to remember this moment. It was just after the very start of the Clone Wars when the clone army was deployed to save him, Anakin, and [then] Queen Amidala from the Petranaki Arena of Justice.

“ _I am one with the Force_ ,” he reminded himself.

_“I have to admit that without the Clones, it would not have been a victory,” Obi-Wan stated with strong opinion. Though he was initially wary of the troops, secretly cultivated with Jango Fett’s genetics in Kaminoan laboratories, they were extremely resourceful. They may have the same face, but they each had different signatures in the Force. This paradoxical conundrum, however, was a matter for another day._

_“Victory?” Yoda questioned indignantly. “Victory, you say? Master Obi-Wan…not victory. The shroud of the dark side has fallen. Begun, the Clone War has.”_

Just as the vision ended, Obi-Wan’s eyes opened. A sneaking suspicion had begun to rattle his brain. One that caused his stomach to flop uncomfortably. The themes of this latest revelation surrounded the concept of “opposites”.

_A duel for life._

_The balance was weighed._

_A duel for death._

_The balance was measured._

_A duel for truth._

_Something was gained._

_A duel for deceit._

_Something was lost._

As Obi-Wan pondered these things, the voices of Korkie and Tiplee caught his attention. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, he found the pair removing the tarps off of speeder bikes nestled underneath. They seemed jovial, enjoying one another’s company. Hopping off the crate, he decided to join them.

As he strode to the back of the cargo hold, Obi-Wan noticed that Korkie’s longish hair had been cut short and slicked back. He was clad in beskar and a poncho just like his Aunt, though he was much brawnier than Bo. Clipped to his belt was his helmet, which _click-clacked_ with every move he made. Unlike the young man beside her, Master Tiplee seemed to have settled for a simple jumpsuit and vest, the look reminiscent of a dock worker.

“I must admit,” Korkie confessed, “my view of Jedi has been quite…skewed. I have only met one other before now, and the second my Auntie Satine only ever talked about.”

“Oh? Who were they?” Tiplee chuckled, the sound almost like chimes.

“The first was Ahsoka Tano,” he laughed, “She came to Sundari one day and taught a class at the Academy as a substitute teacher.” Laughing again, he said, “Despite the fact she looked as young as us, she spoke like someone way older than we were. Though I heard news that she is no longer a Jedi.” Korkie sighed as he ripped a tarp off at the top of a speeder bike.

“ _The_ Padawan Tano?” the Mikkian inquired as if her ears deceived her. “Oh dear, the poor girl left the Order under horrible circumstances.” Tiplee hugged herself as a frown appeared on her lips.

“That’s terrible news,” he said, letting the cover drop to the floor. “Well that couldn’t be much worse than the stories my Auntie Satine used to talk about. She used to tell me about the wild adventures she had with a Jedi that changed everything for her. She and he fell madly in love. That _was_ until he disappeared. The way she spoke of him, it was almost as if he was a ghost. Then one day, not so long ago, he showed up again.”

“But that kind of thing is forbidden for the Jedi. Attachments are not allowed,” she said with concern. “Do you know who he was?”

Just as Obi-Wan came to a standstill to the left of Tiplee, Korkie hopped onto a speeder and locked gazes with Obi-Wan. His blue eyes searched Obi-Wan’s, unblinking and full of meaning. “I don’t know, Master Tiplee,” he said with feigned defeat. As his eyes darted to the ground, he said, “Perhaps, Master Obi-Wan would know. He and Auntie Satine went way back.”

The Mikkian woman turned to her Jedi counterpart, a puzzled expression on her face. “Master Kenobi, what does he mean?”

“It was a very long time ago,” he explained, “on a mission to save the Duchess from certain death.”

She shrugged, not picking up the undertone of hidden meanings. “I didn’t know you’ve been to Mandalore before.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard, “It was a mission where I found much more than I expected.” His thoughts dwelled on Satine for a moment more, before being drawn to the image of the ornate box in his armor’s breast pocket. “And I’m beginning to feel this mission will be as well.”


End file.
